The Reading of His Will
by StarViking
Summary: It is time for Sherlock Holmes' friends to reluctantly gather to hear Sherlock's will. How are they handling his "suicide"? And how is Sherlock handling how drastically his life has changed? Series 3, episode 1 of my SHERLOCK AUseries. I'm acknowledging series 1 and 2 then my fanfics take over from there.
1. Foreword

**FOREWORD**

Story first conceived Aug-1-15

" _Sherlock_ " is the property of Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and the BBC which in turn is based on the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

I only own the plots of these stories and a few OCs.

In all my " _Sherlock_ " stories, I have tried my _absolute_ best to write as " _British_ " as possible, but there will be times where my American will be showing. Sometimes because I just _couldn't_ find the British equivalent or had no idea there _was_ a British equivalent. And in regards to clothing terminology, the metric system vs. United States customary units, etc. I _had_ to use the American version on purpose as it was the only way to have things still make sense in my head as I wrote. The story has to be comprehensive to the writer first and the reader second.

I profusely apologize in advance for any confusion.

When I began researching in earnest for my Sherlock fics, it really hit me just how " _foreign_ " Great Britain is! You'd think being a devout Anglophile for the longest time, I would have noticed this _much_ sooner in my life, but it was never that significant until I started writing. Go figure! Sometimes I would be so desperate to find common ground that I would actually make a mental note of that one Kellogg's Corn Flakes box in Lovejoy's kitchen, or how that one episode of " _Minder_ " showed a Pepsi sign in one shop. Yeah, those shows are decades old, but every little bit helped. The day I found that Wikipedia made a large two-page list of words that have different meanings in American English and British English…the " _Halleluiah Chorus_ " played in my head _for hours!_ Prevented _so many_ mistakes from happening and cleared up _a lot_ of confusion! I can't even!

I have also undertaken artistic license with the various characters' ages, but hopefully still within credibility.

There are multiple reasons why I wanted to write my own interpretation of the BBC series.

Main explanation for now: I have _very_ mixed feelings about series 3 overall. ***HERE THERE BE SPOILERS AT YOUR OWN RISK***

Good bit, and it's a big one: Mary Marston is _finally_ introduced and she is the _BEST_ interpretation since the character was first introduced little over a century ago! Not just because she is played by Martin Freemen's real life partner Amanda Abbington, which means at least the romantic chemistry will be believable and that's all I ask for in romantic couples, but because we have a Mary who _gets_ the important bond between Holmes and Watson and encourages it to keep going strong without being petty/jealous/bitchy about it. This is a Godsend to me.

Bad Bits: The overall direction the show is going in sheer grimdark. I'm looking at _you_ , Moffat! _Cripes_ , man! Watch some Care Bears or My Little Ponies and get some balance in your dark brain! _Yeesh!_ You're inducing severe depression in your audience! _Quit it!_

How they had Moran be what felt like a mere walk on when he is one of the most dangerous and interesting of Holmes' villains. I do get that Moffat and Gatiss wanted to have the series be emphasized on Magnussen as the main villain, but then _why_ did they have Moran show up at all? Couldn't they have saved him for a later series?

Mary's backstory. I do like her being strong and capable of taking care of herself. Nobody wants a " _Damsel in Distress_ " girlfriend, or much worse, a " _Lois Lane_ " which I hate with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns, but this whole " _Assassin_ " thing? I dunno, it's just a couple steps over the line of credibility for me to realistically buy.

Molly. I've always liked Molly and love that they " _promoted_ " her to be someone cool enough to become a part of Sherlock's small circle of allies/friends. I like that she's one of the first OCs in a Sherlock Holmes adaption that's a part of the main cast as well as a likable one. I _hate_ that whole Tom the fiancé thing. It feels like Molly took three steps back into being the pathetic doormat that she started out as and lost most, if not all, of her character growth.

In-Between, Your Opinion May Vary, Bits: Sherlock shooting and killing the villain. Again, I dunno. This is something that has _always_ depended on the interpretation of the character.

The original literature Sherlock Holmes was pragmatic, would often go armed (if not a gun than a small cane that can _crack_ someone's wrist easily) and had a more old-fashioned mentality about not weeping over killing killers.

Basil Rathbone's Holmes _did_ have his moments of being cold and standing by while letting the villain died when he could have tried to stop him. See " _Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon_ " as primary example.

Benedict Cumberbatch's Sherlock has had moments when if someone dies, regardless of who's responsible, he shows subtle signs that he cares. Even if it's a total stranger, it matters to him and he always says something to that effect.

 _However_ , he _was_ willing to blow up himself and John in order to stop Moriarty, and I can easily believe he would kill to save those he loves (your opinion may vary on platonic or romantic).

But this simply boils down to that I just find it _extremely_ hard to believe that _both_ Mycroft and Sherlock would apparently mess up to the point where there was no other choice but to kill Magnussen. That feels way too OOC for both of them.

So here we are.

Because of this and other reasons that I'll expand on when I post the stories more relevant to those reasons, I decided to write a Canon Divergent/Headcanon Sherlock series 3 and onwards!

There _will_ be a few elements from certain scenes/episodes that I will be shouting out to because I thought they were that good and because it reinforces my headcanon. But those will be in minor doses as I don't want to have it look like I'm plagiarizing in every other chapter. It's an _homage._

 **UPDATE:** As of when I started getting back to working on this story en masse, I have _not_ seen series 4, so don't expect _anything_ in my stories to go in those directions.

I _don't_ write grimdark. Angst, sure I got _loads_ of those, I surprisingly have a knack for that all things considered, but not grimdark. Just. No.

If anything similar _does_ happen in terms of what Doyle stories and story concepts was adapted for both the show and my fanfics, it's mostly because only so many of the 4 Sherlock Holmes novels and the 56 short stories have aged well enough to be adapted in 21st century tv/fanfics.

And also because " _The reason that clichés become clichés is that they are the hammers and screwdrivers in the toolbox of communication._ " - Sir Terry Pratchett

My AU series is going to be vastly different. Hate it or be relieved, it's up to you.

For now, enjoy and please be kind in your critical comments!


	2. Chapter 1

I used Google translate for certain sections of foreign language dialogue at the end of this chapter. I apologize in advance for all grammar mistakes.

* * *

 **PRINCIPAL CAST AS OF 2012**

Sherlock Holmes (32): Benedict Cumberbatch

John Watson (35): Martin Freemen

DI Greg Lestrade (43): Rupert Graves

Mycroft Holmes (39): Mark Gatiss

 **RECURRING AND SEMI-RECURRING CAST**

Molly Hooper (29): Louise Brealey

Mrs. Hudson (69): Una Stubbs

Mike Stamford (37): David Nellist

Angelo (44): Stanley Townsend

* * *

 _(The Monkees)_

 _When the world and I were young_

 _Just yesterday_

 _Life was such a simple game_

 _A child could play_

 _It was easy then to tell right from wrong_

 _Easy then to tell weak from strong_

 _When a man should stand and fight_

 _Or just go along_

 _But today there is no day or night_

 _Today there is no dark or light_

 _Today there is no black or white_

 _Only shades of gray_

* * *

 **August 2012**

" _ **Zucco's**_ **" the 4th most popular casino/hotel in Monaco.**

Looking out on the atrium, observing the activity on the lower three floors and the lobby, is a man with slicked down, dark blonde hair and wearing generic jeans, sneakers, white shirt, and denim jacket. A man who booked under the pseudonym " _Jeffrey Hope_ ".

Once he's satisfied that everything is apparently status quo, he goes into his room to check on his associate.

"How much longer?" Jeffrey Hope asks in a New England accent.

"Would've been done by now if you didn't keep _interrupting._ " The twenty-something, black man wearing similarly non-descript clothes answers back while rapidly typing away on his laptop. "Even with the reconnaissance we did, their security is pretty good. Too good for a casino. Am I getting involved in something nastier than my usual fare?"

"All you need to know is that twelve hours after you give me their codes and you're in the hotel I booked for you, you'll receive a package containing the portable hard drive and you'll never have to worry about rotting in a prison in Cyprus ever again."

"Fine, but would it have _killed_ you to bring me a coffee or something?"

"You take too much sugar in your coffee and the last thing we need is you bungling the job because your fingers shook."

"Yeah, yeah. Nearly done anyway."

Jeffrey Hope sits down on the bed and steeples his fingers, then decides to fold his hands instead, and lets his mind drift back to the events eight months ago that started him on this path.

How he once was known as Sherlock Holmes.

How a man named Jim Moriarty was slowly becoming the most dangerous man in the entire world thru his " _consulting criminal_ " empire. By the time they met face to face, Moriarty was responsible for more than half of all acts of evil in London and God knows how much in the world.

How Sherlock and his older brother Mycroft had planned to take Moriarty down by tricking the man to think that Mycroft would idiotically play into _his_ own scheme. No doubt The Woman's crimes gave Moriarty the idea that Mycroft was a gullible fool.

How Moriarty turned the tables by giving Sherlock the ultimate threat. Commit suicide or John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade, three of the most important people in his life will die.

How Moriarty made, as clichéd as it sounds and definitely no pun intended, one fatal mistake in not counting Molly Hooper.

Kind, shy, brilliant Molly Hooper.

Even now all these months later, it still astounds him that she agreed to help when he was always such a rotten bastard to her.

 _~~You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always..._

 _I am sorry. Forgive me.~~_

Not wanting to experience the feeling of self-disgust that that memory brings, he " _shoves_ " it away and quickly moves back to his primary train of thought.

Now the world thinks Sherlock Holmes is dead and he will stay dead until _every single trace_ of Moriarty's web of evil around the world is destroyed. Until his name is cleared. Until he knows _beyond a doubt_ that John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson will be safe from Moriarty's people.

It will probably take years, it will be extremely dangerous nearly all the time while taxing his mind, but considering what those three and Molly have done for him…

And he can't deny deep down that the challenge is _exhilarating_.

If only he could have John with him, trying to rein in Sherlock's enthusiasm but feeling the rush just the same.

 _~~You're a doctor. In fact, you're an army doctor._

 _Yes._

 _Any good?_

 _Very good._

 _Seen a lot of injuries then. Violent deaths._

 _Well, yes._

 _Bit of trouble too, I bet?_

 _Of course. Yes. Enough... for a lifetime, far too much._

 _Want to see some more?_

 _Oh, Hell yes.~~_

Mrs. Hudson good-naturedly chastising him as they head out the door.

 _~~Look at you, all happy about murders. It's not decent.~~_

And Lestrade trying to act frustrated but actually hiding a smile while watching Sherlock in his element.

 _~~Oh, if you're making this up…~~_

" _Et Voila._ " Laptop Guy says in an exaggerated accent, snapping Jeffery Hope out of his memories. "The codes for the hotel's bank accounts. You now have complete control of all of their money and…" He types a few more keys. "seven minutes before they find out, sooner once you start transferring. _Now_ can I have a coffee?"

Jeffrey Hope gives Laptop Guy a credit card and a note. "You can get that coffee at the airport. There's a flight to Tangiers in seventy minutes and a cab will take less than fifteen to get there at this time of night. The hotel's address is on the note."

"Does it have to be Tangiers? It's so clichéd for shady characters like me to go there." Laptop Guy jokes.

"You'll like the seafood. Go now." And with that, Jeffrey Hope takes the laptop and starts implementing his plans with the money, while used to be Laptop Guy just rolls his eyes and leaves.

Jeffrey Hope successfully transfers the hotel's money, via several false accounts and shell companies, to two different accounts.

Then he calmly packs the laptop into his large duffle bag where the rest of his possessions are and makes his way to the elevator.

By the time the elevator's reached the ground floor, the lobby is an excellent visual representation of the word " _pandemonium_ ". Maneuvering past many angry casino customers, he quietly drops his key card at the front desk, while all the clerks and the night manager are trying to get everyone to calm down as they fret over what their computers are telling them.

 **[][][][][]**

 **The Princess Grace Rose Garden**

A man dressed in a proper light grey, three-piece business suit and holding onto an umbrella meanders about the way one just does.

He doesn't care much for flowers. Oh, he understands how most people enjoy having them and wanting some more color in their lives, but personally he doesn't think the allergies and risk of bee stings is a fair trade. Ah well, needs must.

He studies the Verkade statue of Princess Grace in the waning sunlight.

"A rare woman, she. Beautiful inside and out." He softly says to Jeffrey Hope now standing next to him.

"I have to be in Switzerland in less than eight hours. Are we done playing admiring tourists?"

"Now, now ' _Jeffrey_ '." Mycroft Holmes smirks as they make their way to the car park. "I remember a time when you watched ' _Rear Window_ ' with avid interest."

"I liked observing all the neighbors in the courtyard and seeing if what I deduced about the various actors corresponded with the characters they played."

Mycroft gives an acknowledging nod at this, remembering a nine-year-old brother sitting much too close to the tv in order to make certain he wouldn't miss any detail and their dear mummy gently admonishing him.

The two men approach a rented Rolls-Royce Phantom Coupé.

"Would you like to drive or shall I?" Mycroft asks.

Jeffrey Hope has already opened the door and gets inside. "I'm driving."

"Very well."

It is a matter of minutes for them to cross the border into France and stop at a small, abandoned gas station miles from any civilization.

"There will be a pea green Volkswagen delivered here in a few minutes. I apologize about the color but the cheaper, the better. In the glove compartment are the papers you will need, a disposable cell phone, a tablet guaranteed by my electronic geniuses to be unbreakable and unhackable no matter what or I will have their metaphorical heads, and a gun." Mycroft Holmes informs his brother.

Sherlock hands him three envelopes he wrote earlier that day. One blue, one rather thick white, and a pale cream. "I took two-thirds of Zucco's money for my own needs. The rest, you know what to do with it."

"Mmm. Pity about Zucco's being one of Moriarty's main sources of income and money laundering facilities. I rather enjoyed my time there three years ago." Mycroft sighs. "The things the chef could do with a lobster."

Sherlock fights the urge to stick his finger in his mouth and make a gagging sound. "Spare me. Is everything ready?"

Mycroft checks his pocket watch. "In four days from now, London time, Mrs. Hudson will discover Sherlock Holmes' will and testament taped onto the back of the framed bug and bat display on the mantelpiece during her weekly dusting. The Holmes family solicitor, John Hector MacFarlane will then make the necessary arrangements for the reading of said will to the right people at the right time."

Sherlock nods before smirking, "And you'll be there of course."

Mycroft rolls his eyes. " _Really,_ Sherlock."

Sherlock quickly sobers once he makes himself ask, to him, the most important question. "You will keep me up to date on…John and the others?"

Mycroft nods. "As often as it will be safe to contact you. Unfortunately, that will decrease the more time you spend on this mission."

"I know."

Mycroft sees the next question form from Sherlock's micro-expressions and answers. "And I will have some of my best people keep them safe. As much as possible without them knowing it."

The words " _thank you_ " are not said, but they are given and received.

They both get out of the car and wait while taking advantage of the fresh, brisk air.

Mycroft checks his phone and sends off a few texts. Even out in the country, his phone can reach anywhere in the world in seconds. It stands to reason that being the embodiment of the British Government and once in a while, the Australian government, the Canadian Government, and the American CIA has its perks.

And then his mind forces him to acknowledge what's going to happen any minute. His chest feels constricted for a second at the black thoughts.

For nearly his entire life, he's _always_ been able to keep tabs on Sherlock in one way or another. Whenever he needed to, he would find out where in the world his younger brother was in a matter of minutes.

Sherlock's final year at university, there were times where he disappeared for hours or days and Mycroft would have no idea where.

That and _The_ _Incident_ that caused Sherlock to drop out terrified Mycroft far more than anything and everything Moriarty did.

Granted he had not yet formalized the unique position he has now and didn't have _all_ form of surveillance technology at hand, especially the kind the general public must never know about, but that was when he first believed Hell truly exists.

And now he has to delve back into Hell more or less willingly.

For Sherlock's safety, for countless lives around the world, and especially for those three people that that Sherlock was willing to die for, he has to shut down _all_ surveillance, _all_ forms of communication save for a number on a disposable phone only to be used when absolutely necessary, and make himself fight the temptation to check on his little brother 24/7/52 for God knows how long.

Hell definitely exists.

Sherlock studies the stars. Being this far into the open country and with no clouds allows for a truly dazzling display.

Lestrade would have enjoyed the sight. And John would also have liked the peace the stars give in their beauty.

~~ _Beautiful, aren't they?_

 _I thought you didn-_

 _Doesn't mean I can't appreciate them._ ~~

And he forces his mind to change the subject while sneaking a glance at his texting brother.

If truth be told, Sherlock never hated Mycroft.

Those very dark years between the last year of University and when Lestrade helped him find his calling were nothing short of a nightmare. He and his brother fought a war of fighting the eternal boredom verses his liberty and it was a poisonous cycle of hated-filled words, threats, and sometimes violence over and over and _over._ Despite all of that, he never _truly_ hated his older brother. At least not all the time.

Despite how it looks to outsiders, things between them _have_ improved considerably to the point where Sherlock would almost believe in miracles. But despite that, he still resented how Mycroft was always on the peripheral. Always keeping an " _eye_ " on him and John while they work, always wanting him to do a " _job_ " for the government, always waiting to see if _this_ is the day he will relapse.

But now he is going to be free of that. He's going to be completely out of " _Big Brother's_ " sight and influence for not even _they_ know how long.

And he has no idea whether to be delighted beyond words or worried sick.

Two cars drive up to the station. The pea-green Volkswagen and a generic, black Jaguar.

A man gets out of the Volkswagen and after softly talking in French to Mycroft, hands him the keys and gets into the Jaguar which drives off.

The Holmes brothers look at each other. Knowing this will be the last time in a _very_ long while that they'll be able to see each other in the flesh, they both slowly, meticulously study the features of the other. Committing every facet to memory. What Sherlock would describe as " _updating the hard drive_ ".

Then Mycroft breaks the mood, one could almost call it a trance, by holding the car keys up to his brother.

Sherlock takes the keys and curtly nods before walking towards the rental.

Mycroft watches with no visible change in his expression. Like a statue.

Then with his back to his brother, Sherlock flops his head back while dramatically sighing.

Mycroft's brow furrows.

Sherlock then quickly turns around, strides back to Mycroft, and without any forewarning which in itself is rather impressive, gives him the tightest hug he's ever experienced since they were children.

After a second of surprise, the umbrella falls to the dirt as Mycroft's arms wrap around his brother and squeeze just as hard.

It doesn't last nearly as long as it feels it should, but they have to stop before it becomes too late for Sherlock's schedule.

Mycroft pulls back and affectionately grips the side of his brother's neck with one hand. Blinking a bit, no doubt those blasted flowers from earlier have affected his sinuses, he gives a soft smile to Sherlock. "Be careful."

Sherlock doesn't smile, but he doesn't have to. His warm eyes show everything that his brother needs to see as he tightly grips Mycroft's wrist. Anchoring them both. "I will come back. Don't try to remind me how many years this could take or how dangerous it will be, _I_ _am going to come back_."

Mycroft lets go of Sherlock and takes a step back, even though it almost physically hurts. "I shall expect you then." He replies in his usual smug tone as if nothing's changed. "Perhaps by the time you return, you'll be more inclined to work with me."

Sherlock scoffs back as he turns and walks to the rental car. "And here I thought you were the smart one." He calls out over his shoulder.

"I _am_ the smart one!" Mycroft retorts back but there is no venom in it.

Sherlock just dismissively waves back before getting in the car and driving off in the direction in Switzerland.

Mycroft watches his younger brother until he is a speck in the distance. He picks up his umbrella and after gazing up at the stars for moment, as if to pray, he gets back into the Rolls-Royce and reluctantly makes the journey back to London.

 **[][][][][]**

 **Meiringen, Switzerland**

A pea-green Volkswagen parks near the Hotel Sauvage. A man with slicked down, dark blonde hair, wearing generic jeans, sneakers, white shirt, denim jacket, and carrying a large duffle bag gets out.

After taking in his surroundings, he enters the hotel and checks in.

Looking around the lobby, he sees the group he's supposed to meet.

Two men and a woman trying to be nonchalant and failing because they're trying too hard.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, he approaches them and says in German, "Sorry, wenn ich so lange gedauert hat. Können Sie beschuldigen wollen mich nicht schön Monaco zu verlassen?" (Sorry if I took so long. Can you blame me not wanting to leave beautiful Monaco?)

The three people look him over in suspicion.

One of the men speak up, also in German. "Wir haben nicht richtig eingeführt. Ich bin von Bork." (We have not been properly introduced. I am von Bork.)

The blonde haired man nods back. "Ich bin E. Scott." (I'm E. Scott.)

The three still look suspicious.

He sighs and gives the code words. "' _Früher war ich ein Klempner zu sein, aber ich habe in Schwierigkeiten und musste mein Vermögen eingefroren._ ' Ist das gut genug oder ich muss sagen, noch dümmer Klempner puns?" (' _I used to be a plumber, but I got into trouble and had my assets frozen._ ' Is that good enough or do I have to say even more stupid plumber puns?)

Von Bork holds up his hand. "Nein, das wäre nicht benötigt werden. Ich entschuldige mich für die Absurdität all dieser Umhang & Dolch, aber wie Sie sich vorstellen können, hat sich die Organisation _seit Monaten_ im Umbruch gewesen, und es ist unwahrscheinlich, es wird in absehbarer Zeit zu beruhigen." (No, that would not be needed. I apologize for the absurdity of all of this cloak & dagger, but as you can imagine, the organization has been in upheaval _for months now_ and it's unlikely it's going to settle down anytime soon.)

The second man mutters. "Ich fühle mich wie wir in Sodom und Gomorra sind, und jeder zweite jemand geht uns unsere die Schulter schauen über, so dass wir in Salz drehen." (I feel like we're in Sodom and Gomorrah, and any second someone is going to make us look over our shoulder so we'll turn into salt.)

"Niemand kümmert sich, was Sie denken, von Herling!" (No one cares what you think, von Herling!) The woman snaps.

"Na ja, nicht, dass diese kleine Rede ist Nieten, aber können wir uns an die Arbeit irgendwann in _diesem_ Jahr?" (Well, not that this small talk is riveting, but can we get to business sometime _this_ year?) E. Scott asks as he takes the seat nearest von Bork's.

"Na sicher." (Of course.) von Bork answers as he gets his tablet out of his briefcase.

The four of them begin their espionage planning.

Well, _technically_ three of them begin their espionage planning while the fourth starts planning how to bring them down while getting as much information about their cohorts and other operations at the same time.


	3. Chapter 1, Author's Notes

The casino is named after George Zucco who played Moriarty in " _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ " (1939), and a Nazi in " _Sherlock Holmes in Washington_ " (1943). To my mind, he is the _definitive_ Moriarty! His Moriarty is _everything_ I expect from Holmes' greatest enemy. Brilliant, and diabolically twisted at the same time, but not in an obvious way like Andrew Scott's Moriarty, though his take on the classic villain is good too. In one scene, Zucco calmly, yet with anger in his tone, explains to his butler that he was on trial for " _merely_ " killing a man, but for damaging one of his prize flowers, he would gladly torture the butler to death. It may come off as " _old_ _film_ " hokey, but when George Zucco says the lines, you _know_ he ain't messin'. He delivers the right amount of shivers to your spine.

George Zucco specialized in playing villains who were cool under pressure, more often than not, smooth and yet full of snark. So British in other words.

" _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ " has Moriarty attempt to steal the Crown Jewels on his own instead of having his men do it. 73 years later, " _The Reichenbach Fall_ " has Moriarty try it again, and more or less succeed.

I can neither confirm or deny that " _laptop guy_ " is a certain hacker from one of my most favorite shows, " _Leverage_ ".

I'm not thrilled with having John and Lestrade's flashback quotes be inaccurate, it _really_ bugs the OCD in me, but I have an even bigger problem with breaking the 3rd Commandment. I know that taking the Lord's name in vain is becoming very common to the point where most people don't think of it as swearing, and I also try not to have my Christian views interfere with my writing too much since I don't want to come off as patronizingly preachy or have only a select few able to enjoy reading my stuff, but sometimes I just got to take a stand on certain things and say, " _I'm not writing that_ ".

 _The Incident_ that caused Sherlock to drop out of university and drastically escalate his drug addiction will be expanded on in later " _episodes_ ".

Meiringen is the Swiss town closest to the Reichenbach Falls. They have a Sherlock Holmes museum and statue.

E. Scott the plumber was the disguise Sherlock Holmes used in "The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton" (1905)

von Bork and von Herling were the main villains in "His Last Bow" (1917) And von Bork was * **SPOILER ALERT** * revealed as the villain in " _Sherlock Holmes and the Voice of Terror_ " (1942) the first Rathbone film to take place in contemporary times.

Sherlock Holmes fighting Nazis. _Never_ gets old! _Always_ awesome!


	4. Chapter 2

.

MAIN GUEST CAST

John Hector McFarlane: Nicholas Rowe

* * *

 _I remember when the answers seemed so clear_

 _We had never lived with doubt or tasted fear_

 _It was easy then to tell truth from lies_

 _Selling out from compromise_

 _Who to love and who to hate_

 _The foolish from the wise_

 _But today there is no day or night_

 _Today there is no dark or light_

 _Today there is no black or white_

 _Only shades of gray_

* * *

 **Later that August 2012**

 **Chancery Lane**

 **Around 10:30 am**

In one of the more expensive looking buildings dwells the office of John Hector McFarlane, a solicitor to a few but very important families in Great Britain.

And in this office, there is a special waiting room for clients.

The room was designed to be pleasing to the eye. Large space so no one can feel crowded, white wallpaper, pale mint green carpet, comfortable chairs and couches, the stereotypical coffee table with a pile of relatively recent newspapers and magazines, TV, minibar/fridge, and a charging station for electrical devices.

Dr. John Watson doesn't care about any of that.

In fact, he would rather be anywhere else in the world than here. Maybe even back in Afghanistan than here.

Because being here means he has to acknowledge something that has been slowly killing him inside.

It's been a couple of months, but the pain, the open wound, has been growing worse.

Sherlock Holmes, _his best friend_ , is… _is_ …

He takes a soft, shaking breath.

Sitting on one of the couches and dressed in black mourning, Mrs. Hudson looks at him in concern.

He doesn't look back.

He just wants to be left alone. Away from the concerned, pitying looks, the reminders, the…

Somewhere so far away so he doesn't have to hear Sherlock's last words and testament.

 _~~This phone call, it's… it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note._

 _Leave a note when?_

 _Goodbye, John._

 _No. Don't— ~~_

John gets up from his chair and limps toward the window, his knuckles turning white from gripping his cane.

Why won't his mind _stop?!_ It won't let him sleep more than a few hours before the nightmares start. It won't let him eat anything of substance, no matter how much Mrs. Hudson tries to persuade him to. It won't let him read or watch anything without something making him remember _Sher_ …some little thing that happened during those eighteen months they lived together. Good and bad things. Lately it's been nothing but the bad stuff.

 _It just won't._ _ **Stop.**_

Not much traffic, but he's not really watching.

If he was, he would have noticed once Detective Inspector Lestrade across the street, trying to get the nerve to come in.

He also doesn't hear the door open to admit two more people.

Drs. Molly Hooper in a simple grey dress and Mike Stamford wearing one of his nicer suits with a black armband.

Molly immediately goes to hug Mrs. Hudson. "I'm so sorry I haven't seen you and John since the funeral. I…I had to take leave and then there was so much work, _Oh,_ I'm sorry! I, I shouldn't mention that."

Mrs. Hudson gently hushes her as she returns the hug. "It's quite alright, dear. We understand that life goes on whether we want it to or not. You have nothing to apologize for."

"Should… Do you think John will be mad if I talk to him?" Molly asks.

"He needs a few more minutes, but I'm sure he appreciates you being here."

Molly weakly smiles before she moves to sit on one of the chairs. Her thoughts banging about like several pinballs in a very large machine.

Work hasn't really been that heavy, all things considered. But during those first three months after the fall, she used all of her spare time and most of her vacation and sick leave to look after Sherlock who was hiding in her flat.

She tried to make him feel at home, but the fact that he couldn't do _any_ of his usual pastimes, couldn't even play his violin because it was at Baker St. and the walls of her place were too thin, made a bad situation just plain excruciating.

More than once he bit his lip or tongue so as not to take his anger out on her. More than once she cleaned his bleeding mouth without complaint.

Even if he did yell at her, she wouldn't have taken it personally. She almost would have preferred he did, because it would be less poison for him to bottle up inside.

He lost everything that mattered to him. His work, the people he cares for, his experiments, everything. She couldn't even begin to imagine the pain he was going thru. The pain he's probably feeling right now somewhere on the continent.

That last day, she spent nearly all of it in parts of London she never went to before shopping for him with a credit card Mycroft supplied. Large durable duffel bag, thrift store clothes, certain books, high-level first aid kit, and a pair of expensive, top line boots for long distance walking and running.

That night, while he packed, they talked. And a small, selfish part of her will always treasure those few hours. It was painful for both of them, but cleansing in many ways, they said many things that neither wanted said but had to, and she felt it strengthened their friendship to a better level than before. Not romantically, she accepts that it will never be like that but it doesn't bother her anymore.

What matters is that they better understand each other as very good friends do.

Just before he left, she promised him that she will look after the others as best she could. Especially John.

She hopes Sherlock will forgive her for taking too long with following thru on that promise.

Because it's taken this long just for her to work up the nerve to face them. To accept that she will have to lie thru her teeth _every. Single. Time_ she meets up with John, Greg, or Mrs. Hudson. And she's always _hated_ lying.

She prays over and over that she will have the strength to go thru with it. To get better at it. And then she prays forgiveness to God for asking to get better at breaking the 9th Commandment.

While all of those heavy thoughts ricochet in Molly's head, Mrs. Hudson holds her hand out to Mike. "Thank you for coming, I'm Martha Hudson, Sherlock's landlady."

Mike carefully shakes her hand and gives a kind smile. "Mike Stamford. I…" He clears his throat and looks at John's tense back. "Well, I introduced them."

Mrs. Hudson smiles. "Then I'm grateful to you, Mr. Stamford."

"Mike, please."

"I've never seen Sherlock as happy as he was during those eighteen months when John moved in. John was very happy as well. It was a good thing you did, Mike, and don't let anyone tell you different."

Mike sniffs a bit as he nods to the kind woman. He also looks at his old schoolmate for a moment but wisely decides to wait. Then he moves to one of the couches and tries to figure out what's the least socially awkward thing he can do to pass the time.

Five minutes pass before the door opens again to admit another familiar face.

Dressed in a black shirt, pants, tie, socks and shoes, and also with a black armband, Angelo approaches Mrs. Hudson. He takes her small hand in both of his and gently squeezes. "Mrs. Hudson. You let me know if you need anything. Help with groceries, repairs about the building, _anything_."

"That's kind of you, Angelo, but I'm managing well."

"Just the same, I'm only a short walk away."

She nods her gratitude.

Angelo can tell John's not in a sociable mood, really a person would have to be a weird sort to feel amiable under _these_ circumstances, but he has to say what he was unable to at the funeral so he goes to the doctor. "John."

"Angelo." John doesn't look at him, but Angelo understands.

"I want to tell you, that I don't believe _one_ word of those lies about Sherlock! Him being a _fraud?!_ It's utter bol-" He clears his throat as he glances in the direction of the ladies softly talking to each other. "Well, it _is_. I'd sooner believe Sting and Sir Sean Connery having an affair with alien Elvis than Sherlock Holmes committing fraud and suicide!"

That gets a huff of laughter from John. "Thanks, Angelo." And to his surprise, it doesn't hurt to smile. Even one as small and as brief as this one.

"Just so you know, his table is yours now. Meals on the house. And if you need a drink or a shoulder to cry on." He places a hand on John's shoulder. "I'm here for ya, mate."

John just nods even though he has no intention of taking up the man's offers.

"Hey, isn't that that cop friend of Sherlock's?" Angelo looks out the window.

John looks and finally observes Lestrade on the other side of the street. Angelo's muttering something about seeing him with Sherlock once or twice at the restaurant, but John isn't listening. All he can think of is the last time he saw the man.

The funeral.

He punched Lestrade. Hard. Yelled at him. Called him a leech and a traitor, said that Sh, Sherlock was right not to bother learning his name and other horrid things.

Lestrade didn't say a word. He just got up from the floor and left. But not before John saw his eyes.

His red-rimmed, devastated to the point of being completely broken, brown eyes.

John had eyes like that when he left Afghanistan and he can see them in the window's reflection now.

He rests his head against the glass.

"John?"

"I need a moment, Angelo."

Angelo pats his shoulder twice before going to talk to Mrs. Hudson some more.

 **[][][][][]**

Greg Lestrade, who a few months ago was Detective Inspector Lestrade of the Metropolitan Police, apprehensively lingers by the curb and stares at the fancy building across the street.

He's still not 100% certain why he came in answer to the official notice. Why would _he_ be in Sherlock's will? He can think of four, maybe five people that are much more likely to receive some sort of legacy than him. And he really doesn't want to see those four, maybe five people.

But he came anyway.

He tried to clean himself up as best he could, but he still feels like alcohol-infused filth in a cheap suit. And he probably looks worse. People will assume he couldn't be bothered to dress nice when it's in fact the complete opposite.

He sighs.

It took him a while to get here. Thanks to his ex-wife and her solicitor taking advantage of the fact that he was fired for being a " _dirty cop_ ", they had his bank freeze most of his savings, including the royalties from his father's books, in an effort to claim most of it for alimony. Needless to say, his budget grew very tight. And since he had to sell his car, he walked most of the way and used the bus for the rest.

When he saw John and Mrs. Hudson get out of their taxi a while ago…

He can't face them.

The last time he saw either of them, John punched him. It was warranted.

And it's why he's reluctant to face them again. Not because he's afraid John will punch him again or call him a traitor once more, but because he knows he deserves it.

The last time he saw Sherlock Holmes alive…he tried to arrest him.

And for a brief moment during that whole Richard Brooks' debacle, he had a seed of doubt.

Not of Sherlock being a phony, he knew the man for seven years and _no one_ could fake being so-incredibly-brilliant-that-it's-practically-dazzling for so long a time without making _some_ kind of slip-up.

But he doubted Sherlock's honesty.

That _maybe_ he did set up an elaborate series of crimes to show off his cleverness as well as a new way to fight off the boredom.

So while Lestrade may not have pushed Sherlock of the roof, he will _never_ forgive himself.

That seed of doubt became the metaphorical albatross around his neck ever since.

And one of his _other_ greatest regrets, he's starting to lose count, is that in the few weeks he had left at NSY, he wasn't allowed to investigate Sherlock's murder.

Because damn it, it _was_ murder! Despite how few of the facts fit, it's the only explanation that isn't impossible.

Sherlock Holmes' ego was larger than Jupiter. As bad as the situation was, for Sherlock to commit suicide would be like admitting he's wrong or weak. That does not make any degree remotely akin to sense.

And no matter what, if there's _one thing_ Lestrade knows as solid fact, it's that Sherlock would _never_ , _**never**_ hurt John the way he did without a damn good reason!

So somehow, Moriarty got Sherlock to jump. Something happened at St Barts that got two brilliant, dangerous men killed.

And Lestrade will never know why.

Instead, he'll just have to live the rest of his life with the fact that he played a part in Moriarty's Machiavellian plot which resulted in the death of one friend and the emotional destruction of another.

And the end of his career, the last thing that gave his life meaning.

He sighs again.

No wonder Sherlock never bothered to learn his first name.

He runs a hand thru his hair and tries to fight back those really dark thoughts that began a month ago and still recur now and then.

Looking up, he sees a black jaguar drives up to the law building and a tall, light brown haired man in an immaculate, black suit steps out of it.

Lestrade hadn't seen or heard from Mycroft since the Baskerville case.

Did he go to his brother's funeral? Lestrade wasn't able to stay long enough to notice.

Even though he has no idea what Mycroft thinks of him, ally, fellow Sherlock minder, worker ant, the list goes on, seeing someone familiar and who _might_ not hate him gives Lestrade the courage to finally cross the street and enter the building.

 **[][][][][]**

Mycroft had spotted Lestrade and deliberately took his time lingering in the building's general lobby by checking his messages.

 _If_ he was prone to sentiment the way his younger brother is, oh Sherlock can deny it all he wants, but the evidence is blatantly there to anyone with eyes, Mycroft would admit to being _slightly_ concerned about the last couple of reports he received about Lestrade.

Granted, John is in a similarly emotional tumult, but he had Mrs. Hudson and Dr. Hooper looking after him so Mycroft wasn't as…worried. If he were to admit he does worry.

The wide double doors open to admit one of the few people Mycroft can openly admit he respects.

Though right now at face value, no one would believe it.

"Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft nods. "Detective Inspect-"

"It's just Lestrade now. I'm…it's Lestrade." Even if the circumstances were like the status quo they were less than a year ago, there's no way Lestrade would be comfortable enough to have Mycroft call him by his first name. Much, much too weird. "For what little it's worth, I _am_ sorry for your loss. If there's a way I can help…I dunno _how_ , but I'm offering."

Mycroft's usual mask of imperially ice softens for a moment. Nobody at his various offices or the Diogenes offered their sympathies. Granted the only ones who would are the few who know the truth, but still… "Thank you."

"And I am sorry it's taken this long for me to say so."

" _That_ is not your fault." Mycroft sighs. "It seems this whole mess with Moriarty and Sherlock's sui-"

"It _wasn't_ a suicide." For a moment, Lestrade's eyes have that steel that served him well in the Met.

And despite the depressing conversation, Mycroft almost smiles. "No. It wasn't. However, this whole affair has turned into a tangle to rival the Gordian Knot complete with the Sword of Damocles hanging over many of us whilst between Scylla and Charybdis if you'll forgive my convoluted metaphors. I have been trying to repair the damage here and there, but I can only use so much of my influence."

And that will probably be as close to an apology that Lestrade will get over his being fired. But he heard the sincerity behind it and accepts. "You showing off your knowledge of Greek classics aside, all I _really_ care about is making sure the killers Sherlock put away stay in jail, and making sure John doesn't…fade away too much, if that makes sense."

"Perfectly. Despite all the shouting your asinine Chief Superintendent and your rather doltish associates have made in the past, you may be rest assured that _all_ the cases you worked on will not be reinvestigated. For the simple facts that the evidence was ironclad and that you _are_ a rather competent officer of the law."

"Was." And that doesn't sting as much as it used to.

Better to be fired than to comprise his integrity and continue working with any of those _#% &$ _anymore. He may be near rock-bottom with the divorce proceedings, being deprived of the job he loved, and losing someone that _was_ a friend as well as a great man, but now he doesn't have to deal with those smug bastards and bitches who all but sang " _I told you he was a freak_ " every day during the last days of his job. Or with the Chief Superintendent who " _compassionately_ " offered him a reduced rank and pay cut if he would denounce the fraud, get back in line, and help reduce the PR damage.

No matter how dark his life got in these past few months, _nothing_ was worth going back to them.

Mycroft doesn't act like he heard. "And as for John… You are bound to have more success in that area than I would. I am rather inefficient at," He cringes. " _comforting_ and things of that ilk. And it will most likely be at least another year before he will be able to talk to me and resist his violent impulses."

Lestrade shakes his head and answers without looking, "John won't talk to me. And I can't blame him."

"I doubt that. But we will see for ourselves in a minute. McFarlane's office is on the second floor."

"Yeah…" Lestrade mentally takes a deep breath to steel himself. The sooner he can get this over with, the less painful it will be. He hopes.

As he moves on ahead to the elevators…

"Gregory."

Surprised, Lestrade turns around.

Mycroft looks right at his eyes in complete seriousness and maybe with something like concern. "I think, in this one instance, I can safely speak for John, and the rest of your friends when I say, _please_ don't ever consider suicide again."

 **[][][][][]**

For the past five minutes, Molly has been working up the nerve to talk to John.

Angelo was softly talking to Mrs. Hudson, Mike Stamford was looking at the various periodicals, and John just stayed by the window.

But just as she got up to her feet and made a few steps towards him, the door opened.

The minute Mycroft Holmes clears the doorway, John looks over his shoulder.

And barely manages to resist using his cane on the man.

An almost white haze forms around the edges of his sight that threatens to slowly move inwards and make him blind with rage.

He takes a few steps forward before Mrs. Hudson gently grips his arm.

"John. If Sherlock wanted his brother here, it must have been for a good reason and we need to respect that."

" _His brother got him killed._ " John says in quiet anger.

That causes Molly to sharply look at Mycroft in confusion.

Mycroft simply waits. If John wants him to leave, he will. He already has a good idea what's in the will anyway. He's only here to keep up appearances.

"John, please."

John glances at Mrs. Hudson and then takes a deep breath.

Which doesn't help. There's too many people in the room and one of them is Sherlock's arch-enemy.

Desperate for air, John silently leaves the room as fast as his leg will let him.

Ignoring the venom in Mrs. Hudson's eyes and the puzzled suspicion in the others, Mycroft calmly settles in the chair closest to him and farthest from everyone else.

 **[][][][][]**

John barely took two steps before nearly colliding with Lestrade who finally steeled himself into facing the others.

"Greg." John says without thinking. As if nothing's drastically changed this year.

Lestrade just nods without making eye contact. "Dr. Watson."

…

"I could…" Lestrade tries to say. "I'll leave. Sorry."

John internally sighs.

This isn't right. Sherlock may have been John's best friend, but Greg was his best mate.

The, go to a pub and watch the game while making dumb jokes, having a couple of ales, then make even dumber jokes at the quiz machine, kind of best mate.

When Greg's wife left him, _idiot_ John thought, John spent a whole weekend at Greg's place in Saltram Crescent. The two of them doing nothing but watch all the James Bond films in order while having Mongolian takeout and Guinness Draught.

They spent more time " _riffing_ " the movies than actually watching them and got into a drunken argument at one point because Greg teased that John fancied Sean Connery and John retorted that Greg had a crush on Pierce Brosnan or Roger Moore. He lost track of the conversation by then due to the amount of beer in his system.

They settled their " _argument_ " by agreeing that Carole Bouquet was the most gorgeous of the Bond Girls, though Claudine Auger was a close second.

Then they decided to watch all the films over again, because why not.

Sherlock came over to demand that Lestrade give him a cold case to work on and he got sucked into watching right around when " _From Russia With Love_ " started.

Though Sherlock tried not to be too sarcastic when it came to all the plot and special effect flaws he spotted, of which there was an abundance as Sherlock had a hard time understanding the Bond film formula, he could not stay still when " _Man with the Golden Gun_ " was playing.

Greg and John agreed that one was pure garbage and all three vowed never to watch it again.

John's lost one friend. He doesn't want to lose any more. "Greg."

Lestrade looks up.

"I'm sorry." He doesn't like the look of surprise in Lestrade's eyes. It implies he doesn't have anything to apologize for. And he does. He has a long list. "What I said at the funeral… Not really proud of myself. It was wrong on _so_ many levels and I'm so sorr-"

Lestrade interrupts. "It's okay, John. I deserved it."

" _No,_ you didn't!" John insists in that quiet, strong way of his. "I wanted to lash out and I picked you because I hated Moriarty, Mycroft, and the police for what happened and you were the only one there."

" _It's okay_ , John." Lestrade touches John's shoulder. "I should never have let things end up the way they did at your flat. I should have resigned first, punched the Super, and then warned Sherlock. And I…" He can't tell John the full truth. It's too soon and still too raw.

John tries to speak up. "I still should've-"

"We both have too many ' _should haves_ '."

"… _yeah._ " John says in a hoarse voice from trying to keep his emotions tightly locked down.

…

Lestrade finally looks John in the eyes. "It _wasn't_ a suicide."

"No, it wasn't."

And with those two sentences, despite the demons both are carrying in their hearts, a much needed peace is restored between them.

 **[][][][][]**

As Mycroft goes over his phone messages, the rest of the group try to respectably pass the time while not worrying themselves sick over John.

The door opens to admit the doctor is question who just glares at Mycroft one more time before moving back to the window, his body language making it clear that this is as civil as he'll get unless pushed some more.

Lestrade enters the room close behind John. Though he has difficulty meeting everyone's eyes. Do they know? Do any of them suspect?

Though John does feel a little better since resolving things with Lestrade, he finds time is going back to its sluggish, painful pace.

He hears Molly softly talking to Lestrade while Mrs. Hudson talks to Mike.

Just when John was thinking ' _Hell with all of this_ ' and was about to start toward the exit, the door opens.

A dark haired man in a business suit that says " _What else could I be but a solicitor?_ ", and carrying a thick folder enters the room.

John, Lestrade, and Molly can't help noticing many details about him.

Asthmatic, going by his breathing. Wears glasses to read or is too vain to keep regular glasses on all the time, indent around the bridge of the nose. Bachelor, his suit is expensive but the shirt is slightly wrinkled and the vest has one button near the bottom out of alignment. Freemason, his watch chain has a little charm of the Masonic Square and Compasses. One or two dogs, black and white hairs on the left pant cuff and sock.

Having rose from his chair, Mycroft no doubt spotted countless more things about the family solicitor or more likely, already knew everything there is to know about the man when he first became the family solicitor.

The solicitor immediately approaches Mycroft. "I _deeply apologize_ if I took too long. The conference room is available, Mr. Holmes." He holds his arm out to his right to indicate that Mycroft should go first.

After coldly glaring at the man's vest, Mycroft curtly nods and makes his way to the fifth door on the right.

Everyone else follows, John determined to keep up and everyone tactfully not acknowledging.

The conference room is in dark shades of wood that could _almost_ be stylish if some extra color was put in as a balancing contrast.

Red curtains for the windows instead of wooden blinds, forest green upholstery for the chairs, the ceiling lights having an Art Deco, pseudo-Tiffany cover, a generic pastel print on the wall that could've been a lake with two puny boats, _something_.

But apparently, the right side of solicitor's brains are so extremely deficient that they can't discern things like tasteful color schemes.

The dark cherry table takes up most of the space. Long enough to seat ten, including the chairs at the ends, and narrow enough so people sitting at one side can easily reach over to exchange papers.

"Now, I have instructions as to who sits where." The solicitor says as he checks a small piece of paper from his folder, squinting a bit. "Mr. Holmes sits opposite me at the end.

Mycroft moves next to the chair. He has no intention to sit down until the women do.

A Dr. Watson?" The solicitor looks up in question.

"Me." John softly answers.

"Ah. You are to sit at my left. Then a Mrs. Hudson sits next to you."

Mrs. Hudson moves to her chair, and Mike who was closest pulls it out for her.

"Thank you." She smiles as she sits down.

The solicitor continues. "Then a Mr. Angelo sits next to her. A Detective Inspector Les…trayde?" He squints harder.

"It's Mr. Lestrade."

"Oh, forgive me. I just got reading glasses and always forget to put them on when I should." He gets them out of his inner jacket pocket and dons them. "Now that's better, you are to sit at my right opposite Dr. Watson. Then a Dr. Hooper, then a Dr. Stamford."

Lestrade helps Molly into her seat and everyone settles in.

"Now then," The solicitor opens the folder and starts organizing the papers inside. "Mr. Holmes, can you hear me?"

Mycroft just gives the man a Look. "Yes. Please proceed."

"Right, of course. Now, I am John Hector McFarlane, the Holmes family solicitor. And we are all here to learn the contents of Sherlock Holmes' will and testament." He adjusts his reading glasses. "Mr. Holmes, before I start, I feel I must ask, I do not wish to question Mr. Holmes, that is the younger Mr. Holmes' decisions, but-"

"For now, it will be less confusing if you call him Sherlock. Now, what is it you wish to ask of me?" Mycroft fights back a sigh. He always tries to have as little with McFarlane as possible. The obsequious little…

"Well, Mr. Holmes, are you certain we should do this without Sherlock's and your parents here?"

The others in the room react with varying degrees of surprise.

John grips his cane so tight, his fingers ache. ' _Oh, dear God… His_ _ **parents.**_ _I never…he never gave any indication they were still alive! Were they at the funeral? I didn't recognize everybody. I couldn't…couldn't see anything but his headstone. I can't do this._ '

"Did you not receive Sherlock's directions to you regarding the reading of his will?" Mycroft asks with a coolness to rival glaciers.

McFarlane picks up a small note amongst the papers. "Yes, sir. But he did not state _why_ your parents should be exempt from this. I am not trying to pry…"

' _Yes, you are. You're_ _ **dying**_ _of curiosity to know._ ' Lestrade mentally scoffs.

"If you _must_ know, Mr. McFarlane, this is Sherlock's way of sparing them from any more pain. Our parents lead a very quiet, _private_ life. They lost their youngest son in a horrific way and I intend to keep them out of the public eye for as long as possible. They do not need to be cruelly hounded by the parasites parked outside the building that laughingly call themselves reporters." One of his more polite nicknames may be " _the Iceman_ " but there is no doubt to everyone present that Mycroft is taking his duty as head of the family with a fervency not to be underestimated. "If Sherlock left anything to them, I'm sure he will let me or Dr. Watson know as to instructions. Now _may we proceed?_ "

' _Sparing you parents anymore grief is the_ _ **least**_ _you can do…_ ' John angrily thinks to himself.

' _What reporters?_ ' Molly thinks. She barely saw anyone on the sidewalk when she came in.

Of course she and the others have no way of knowing that Mycroft's people are " _persuading_ " the multitude of reporters to give the building a very width berth.

"Yes. Forgive me." McFarlane clears his throat. He picks up a couple of thick papers.

" ' _I, Sherlock Holmes, being of reasonably sound body and, despite jealous rumors and petty insults to the contrary, of sound and extraordinarily brilliant mind, declare this to be my Will and Testament._

" ' _Now, I realize that giving all of you money seems crass, none of you being that materially selfish and everything. You_ _ **would**_ _think that being as exceptionally observant as I am, I would be_ _ **rather**_ _ **good**_ _at picking gifts or in this case bequeathments, is that even a word? But no._

" ' _Please don't any of you reject my money. I know that it will give many of you opportunities to achieve certain goals you always dreamed of but were_ _ **always**_ _forced to ignore because of lack of funds. This is my way of helping. I want to help. Is this good, John?' "_

"Oh, _Go_ -" John chokes back his tears.

Mrs. Hudson hugs him while Lestrade gets up and moves around the table so he can place his hand on John's shoulder.

Clearly uncomfortable, McFarlane looks to Mycroft.

Mycroft just holds a hand up to indicate wait.

Molly reaches across the table to hand Mrs. Hudson a tissue.

Mrs. Hudson takes it to offer to John.

John straightens up in his seat, and shakes his head. "I'm fine! I'm…fine. Just… Please."

"It's okay, John." Lestrade says. "There's no rush."

"I know and I'm _fine._ "

"Okay." Lestrade goes back to his seat.

Once enough seconds have passed to be respectable, McFarlane resumes.

" ' _To my brother Mycroft, I appoint him to be my Executor of, once McFarlane gives him the envelope_ ,' " Mr. McFarlane picks up a blue envelope and asks Lestrade to hand it down the table to Mycroft, who takes it without opening it. " ' _certain legal papers, important documents, other legal thingys, and my violin. There will be more instructions in that envelope, Big brother mine, so once this is done you can get started on those. How's the diet?_ ' "

McFarlane frets as he stops reading. "Mr. Holmes, I _hope_ you understand I was only quotin-"

" _Mr. McFarlane._ This is an uncomfortable enough time as it is. Just read it all verbatim and save the apologies for later. We all…knew how Sherlock behaved."

Mrs. Hudson pats John's arm.

"Yes, well." John Hector McFarlane clears his throat again. And raises an eyebrow at the next section.

" ' _To Angelo blank name. I'm being discreet since Lestrade will be present and this is just in case there might still be some outstanding warrants out. Statute of limitations probably expired by now, but still safe and sorry. Lestrade, cover your ears and hum._ ' "

Angelo sniffs. "He was always thoughtful like that."

" ' _For those nights I needed a roof over my head and he provided one though the owners might have not liked it, for being the best cook of Italian food there ever will be, and for being nice to me, 300,000 pounds. You needed to expand your restaurant, and I want to increase my investment as your silent partner. No pun intended.' "_

Angelo blows his nose into his handkerchief. "I don't care what anyone says, the man's _a saint!_ "

Mrs. Hudson strokes his back to give comfort.

John half hears him as his memories force him back to that first night when they did a stakeout and got to know each other better.

 _~~What do real people have then, in their..._ _ **real**_ _lives?_

 _Friends...~~_

McFarlane takes a sip of water and turns the page. " ' _Lestrade, you can stop humming. John, indicate to Lestrade he can uncover his ears and stop hum-_ ' I'm sorry, that was still from the last paragraph."

Molly stifles her giggles. "I'm sorry, that… _Oh jeez,_ I'm so sor-"

John reaches over to touch her hand. "It's fine, Molly. You don't have to apologize."

For some reason, that causes Molly's eyes to water even more as she weakly smiles back.

Mycroft watches her.

"Will I get in trouble for not covering my ears?" Lestrade tries to lighten the mood.

Molly fights back her giggles even harder.

Mike, Angelo, and Mrs. Hudson also smile.

McFarlane just stares dumbly. "I…um…"

"Never mind." Lestrade resists rolling his eyes.

John Hector McFarlane clears his throat and continues. " ' _To Mike Stamford, for his exceptional generosity in arranging for me free reign in the morgue and the lab, his good-natured personality, and for introducing me to John Watson, 400,000 pounds._ ' "

Feeling gobsmacked, Mike leans back in his chair. " _Holy…_ "

" ' _I had believed you to be of average intelligence, but you proved me wrong and that doesn't bother me at all. Your perceptiveness in realizing John would be a perfect flatmate, let alone a partner in my work and someone I can get along with is nothing short of_ _ **astounding!**_ _I am not one given to hyperbole, shut up John, Lestrade, and Mycroft, but many,_ _ **many**_ _lives would have been lost if it weren't for what you've done. Like one of those absurd cartoons I was forced to watch during my stay in certain clinics, you dropped a pebble that rolled down a snow-covered mountain and rapidly grew into a monstrous snowball that would have filled the Grand Canyon. But in a good way._ ' "

Mike is too speechless. He always liked Sherlock, and sometimes he wondered why, but he never though the man cared _that_ much.

" ' _Dr. Molly Hooper, for enduring my repeated acts of cruelty, for being the best and most intelligent pathologist, for being the one I could count on when it mattered the most,_ ' "

Gasping back a sob, Molly quickly rises from her chair and leaves the room.

Mike gets up. "It's okay, I'll see to her."

Mr. McFarlane looks to the man at the other end of the table.

"Dr. Watson, do you wish to continue?" Mycroft politely asks John.

"…We should wait. Molly should hear the rest…"

"Then we will wait, Mr. McFarlane."

A few minutes pass.

Mike and a red-rimmed Molly come back in.

After Lestrade helps her back into her seat, McFarlane reads on.

" ' _and for always being kind to me when I did_ _ **nothing**_ _to merit such a thing, 500,000 pounds. I do want you to find happiness, Molly Hooper. God knows you deserve it after everything I put you thru. I will always be sorry for what I've done and I deeply treasure our friendship, what little pieces of it remains despite my asshole attempts to ruin it with my selfishness. Thank you._ ' "

Molly cries even harder into her soggy hankie.

Lestrade gently rubs her back.

McFarlane thoughtlessly continues.

" ' _Mrs._ _Martha Louise Hudson, for being patient with the bullet holes in the walls, the clients coming in at all hours, the body parts in the fridge,_ '?!" He looks up in shock.

"Keep going." Mrs. Hudson tearfully says.

" ' _for helping with the cleaning even though you're not our housekeeper, for being a saint among saints, and for the morning cup of tea, 600,000 pounds._ ' "

Mrs. Hudson's sobs exceed Molly's.

A minute passes.

" ' _To Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. Yes, I remember your name._ ' "

Lestrade doesn't stop the small smile from forming on his lips. Or the few tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

" ' _For giving me the idea of becoming a consulting detective, for letting me all but take over your cases, and for being the_ _ **most patient**_ _ **man in the world**_ _during those investigations, 700,000 pounds and the 69 ID cards I pinched from you. If you're expecting me to apologize for all the grief I gave you, don't. You knew when you and I first made the agreement what kind of man you were going to have to deal with._

' _All that aside, you are right in that I should have worked_ _ **with**_ _you more and should have stopped taking you for granted. My relationship with my birth father is not strained or anything like that, it's rather boringly normal to everyone's shock I'm sure, but there were dark times, many dark times when I am_ _ **very**_ _glad you were there for me instead. You went beyond our arrangement in looking after me during those times and it helped much more than I let on. You showed me what I was meant to be. Thank you, Greg. Thank you so much._ ' "

His eyes closed and with his elbow on the table, Lestrade presses his fist to his lips and takes deep breaths thru his nose, fighting to keep control.

Molly squeezes his shoulder.

" ' _To Captain John Hamish Watson formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, now Doctor John Hamish Watson, blogger extraordinaire and doctor of amazing skill. I'm not going to waste time. McFarlane, give him the envelope now. John, you can read it whenever you wish to._ ' "

John Hector McFarlane hands John a pale cream envelope.

John takes it, but doesn't do anything more.

" ' _800,000 pounds and my half of Baker St. Also all of my possessions in the flat to do as you see fit. Bin them, give them to Mycroft, set fire to them, whatever you want. I do want you to understand something important though, John. You are my first and_ _ **best**_ _friend. Thank you._ ' "


	5. Chapter 2, Author's Notes

This chapter was hard to write. Early August 2016, I was in the writing zone and felt optimistic that I would finish and post the _whole story_ at the end of the month. But then we received the news that my paternal grandmother passed away. It wasn't that much of a shock as we deep down knew her time was coming but it still was hard. We flew to Nebraska and had the funeral the day before _my birthday_. I wasn't that upset because sometimes life just messes with you and my poor dad just lost the last of his childhood family, so my priorities were better focused. After the funeral and everything that happens afterwards, we drove to Norfolk where my maternal grandparents, an uncle and aunt and loads of cousins live. So I got to spend my birthday with most of my relatives and it's been _ages_ since that happened. That was nice fun. We fly home and barely 24 hours after our arrival, we got the news that one of my maternal uncles passed away from lung cancer! I knew he had it, but I was _really_ out of the loop as to how bad it was. So, I lost family before and after my birthday.

You can't imagine how much that sucked.

I was kinda in a numb place with my grief. By the time I got back to my writing, I was at the beginning section where I had to express John's grief and it was like my emotional walls _crashed_ down. I couldn't do it. I focused my writing on other stories, other real-life stuff happened, we got a super sweet puppy, and then March 2017, I came back to this story, wrapping it up by November.

* * *

I'm not 100% happy with how I wrote John's grief, but all in all I strongly feel that that's the best I can produce. It still feels too close to home and John is just the hardest " _Sherlock_ " character for me to write thus far. Sorry, if it's not enough, but sometimes a writer can't give what they ain't got.

* * *

So, I make it clear right away that I don't and won't " _officially_ " ship Sherlock and Molly. Even though I have faved _a ton_ of well-written fanfics that do ship them on . And fics that ship her and Lestrade as well. But that's neither here nor there.

I use the term " _officially_ " because while I have at least two Sherlock stories planned where he ends up with Molly, but they are _not_ part of my _main_ official headcanon series. One is a really drastic AU that will be awesome if I do say so myself and the other is sort of a background to the main plot and it's a story I might not even finish.

And because I have _so many_ Sherlock ideas in separate continuities from my main headcanon series, I can't get away with using my Sherlock's OC-love interest in _all_ of them. I'd really love to, but there's apparently a limit. Darn. :^[

I really like Molly and think she's a sweetheart, but that's part of the reason I don't ship them. She's _too_ nice. I think that whoever Sherlock Holmes would have a romantic relationship with, regardless of gender, it should be someone who has the iron will needed to tell him when to back off when he's about to cross a line or just to say " _Don't!_ ". It should be someone that can be on equal footing with Sherlock in terms of inner strength and not end up as a doormat. I like Molly, but I don't believe she has the spine needed to make the relationship an equal one. The few fanfics I've read that tried to make her tough enough, it came off as too OOC.

Whoever Molly ends up with, it should be someone who appreciates her quiet sweetness and won't force her to change that.

All of that yammering aside, if Moffat and Gatiss _do_ have them end up a couple in some future episode, I won't mind. I like the ship, but don't love it enough to " _endorse_ " it, if that makes sense.

* * *

It's kind of a peeve of mine that Mike Stamford and Angelo haven't really come back since " _A Study in Pink_ ". I intend to remedy that in this and future stories.

Mike Stamford holds a _very important_ place in Sherlock Holmes history as the man who brought together one of the most iconic, coolest partnerships in literature and beyond. The epitome of Bromance, if you will. And from the few minutes screentime we get, we meet a guy that's really nice and seems to get along with Sherlock pretty well in his Pre-John days. That says a lot and yet we don't get any more. :^(

And Angelo is this big teddy bear of a man who also proves that Sherlock _does_ have friends before John showed him how to appreciate such things.

* * *

So it's probably obvious, (or will be in future " _episodes_ "), that Lestrade's one of my favorite characters in the show. There's _so much_ to this guy that the show _never_ reveals. How did he and Sherlock meet? What does he think about John and the doctor's friendship to the " _high-functioning sociopath_ "? The Baskerville episode showed him without his wedding ring so what happened there?! What happened to him after Sherlock " _died_ "? I can't believe he went thru completely unscathed, something must have happened! And etc, etc. The show barely scratches the surface with Greg, and it bugs _the heck_ out of me! Come on Moffat and Gatiss, you got Rupert Graves playing one of the coolest Lestrade's we've had in _decades_ , and he's been reduced to a walk on!

So like any good fanfic writer, I'm taking over. I plan to write a big backstory " _episode_ " to cover a lot of these questions and such. I wish I can release it as " _episode 2_ " of my AU season 3, but I seriously can't cause of important reasons. Reasons I can't reveal yet cause they're of the spoiling sort. _Darn it!_

* * *

I don't know a thing about the British divorce laws, this is one time where I chose to totally make it up instead of doing the research. Sorry, but I'd rather be wrong than actually go and read up on British " _legalese_ ". My brain can't handle the amount of smart needed to comprehend. And since this is something that's not going to be a huge factor in the plot, I figured it'd be okay to fudge it. When it's _really_ important, then I'll do the research.

* * *

I was going to write Lestrade ruminating about Sherlock's " _confession_ ", but then I thought " _John probably wouldn't have told_ _ **anyone**_ _what Sherlock's last words were. It would've hurt too much to even admit he said them._ "

* * *

This was not intentional, I swear to high Heaven it wasn't, but somehow I ended having _Mycroft_ of all people paraphrase my top favorite Tom Servo line from " _Mystery Science Theater 3000_ "! It just happened before I realized it! The subconscious geek part of my brain is kinda nuts, I think. And now, I would give a thousand dollars just to hear Mark Gatiss say that line in complete seriousness. It's on my bucket list.

* * *

For the record, there won't _ever_ be any Lestrade/Mycroft ship in any of my stories, regardless if they're in this continuity or a separate one. In my headcanon, Sherlock, John, and Lestrade are straight and Mycroft is asexual. Whether he'll experience a romantic attraction towards someone of any gender/sexual identity in any future " _episodes_ " is up in the air for now.

Because yes, I looked it up and asexual people can fall in love, they just don't feel the sexual attraction side of love and, that's fine, no one has the right to judge that.

Also, and no offense to those who _do_ ship these guys, I just _don't_ see it. Have these two ever been in the same scene? How can you ship two characters that haven't interacted at all?

I know it's done in MLP: FiM _all the time_ and I admit some of my pony ships are random, but the shipping rules, if they exist, differ from franchise to franchise.

All of that being said, and _again_ this is _not_ meant to offend, I will lightly poke fun at this ship in upcoming " _episodes_ ". It's just something I do in lots of my fanfics and not just Sherlock ones. I good-naturedly tease ships I don't support. Just laughing _with_ you guys and not _at_. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.

However, I could very easily see Lestrade as being one of the closet things Mycroft will ever have to a friend. Even though Mycroft will never admit to such a thing as friendship.

* * *

Saltram Crescent _is_ a real street. There is this _**AMAZING**_ website called London Street Map (I can't put down the real URL but this should be enough to find on google). It has been the _biggest_ Godsend for my research cause NOW I can look up what streets are in relation to what iconic locales in London and figure out locations for all my Sherlock stories although I'll _still_ have to use creative license at times. Especially since there _isn't_ a Northumberland street nor a Rathbone Street both of which feature in "Study in Pink". This website is real easy to navigate, there's a list of all street/road/avenue names in alphabetical order, and the map has zoom features.

I used it and certain real estate websites to figure out what neighborhood Lestrade lives in for my headcanon. Saltram Crescent is a ritzier place than I assume most Detective Inspectors can afford to live at, I have _no idea_ what their pay grade is, but I have headcanon reasons.

Real life trivia: There _is_ a Tesco's on Baker Street, about a block or so from the Sherlock Holmes museum. So that's where in the show, John would go to get milk and other groceries. And I don't know _why_ I find this hilarious, but there's a Baskin-Robbins and a Dunkin' Doughnuts not that far from the museum. Maybe the mental image of Sherlock and John needing to get some ice cream and/or doughnuts after a long day solving mysteries or something.

* * *

John Hector McFarlane was the client in distress in one of my top favorite Sherlock Holmes stories " _The Norwood Builder_ ".

Nicholas Rowe played the titular " _Young Sherlock Holmes_ " (1985)

* * *

I know I _just said_ that I don't like swearing in God's name, but I'm writing that John is mostly calling out to God in prayer/desperation.

* * *

I hope the " ' _quotes_ ' " thing makes sense. It's something I'm field-testing for when characters have to read something outloud or quoting someone else and I want to make it more clear it's a quote. One of my Sherlock Holmes volume editions uses this technique too and I figured if it worked in print, then it can't be too hard for online reads. Let me know if it works for you, the Reader, or doesn't.

* * *

It may seem out of character for Sherlock to show that much emotion in his will, but bear in mind this is his way of giving a proper goodbye to everyone right before he sets off on his Moriarty empire crumbling.

Plus, I have this plan of how I'm going to write Sherlock in the next couple of " _episodes_ " with him and his emotions that hopefully is believable. Fingers crossed.


	6. Chapter 3

I'm _really_ , _extremely_ sorry for the delay. I had a very bad case of writer's block for the longest time, Real Life stuff happened, some of my other geek hobbies kept grabbing my attention, and so on. I have learned some valuable lessons here. Like I'll _**never**_ post a story until it is completely done!

I have a section that goes on a sorta tangent from the main plot. Sorry, I really didn't want to break into a fourth chapter and I'm still figuring out structure and writing things like that as I go. I think I fixed it, or at least made it more presentable, but I'll remember to do better next time.

Also, I'll probably have to reiterate this in every Sherlock story, but John and Sherlock are _platonic_ life-partners in my fanfics. Just want to make sure there's no misinterpretation. ;^P

MAIN GUEST CAST

Harriet " _Harry_ " Watson: Samantha Bond

* * *

 _It was easy then to know what was fair_

 _When to keep and when to share_

 _How much to protect your heart_

 _And how much to care_

PT. 1

 **That same day**

 **11:02 pm. Mycroft Holmes.**

Aside from his main office "s _omewhere_ " on Richmond Terrace and the one he used when he spoke to John during that mess with the Bruce-Partington missile plans, he has a rotating number of offices in different parts of London for security purposes and to deal with different kinds of " _situations_ ". The one he's in now is in one of the topmost floors of the, soon to be officially complete in a few months, Shard with two of the walls being floor to ceiling windows.

After sending off more than a dozen important texts, emails, and phone calls, giving his people their instructions for the next five hours till he gets an update from one of his agents in Chile, Mycroft leans back in his chair while closing his eyes. He slowly exhales thru his nose, and mentally goes thru his usual meditative exercises to release the stress building up in his body. His right thumb slowly tapping each finger, pointer to pinkie and back in a soothing repetition.

Besides the usual imagery he utilizes during this practice, he also muses on what happened that morning.

Not the will reading, that went 98.4% exactly what he expected to happen.

But what Lestrade did before the reading and what Dr. Hooper did afterwards.

They both surprised him.

The last time anyone did the opposite of what he expected of goldfish behavior was that mess with Moriarty and before that, Irene Adler.

But he's accepted they were the exception to the usual rule of humanity. However irksome it was to concede _that_ much.

Lestrade and Dr. Hooper, while slightly superior to most people, were not supposed to be any different than their fellow humans.

Just part of Sherlock's group. His " _pets_ " alongside Mrs. Hudson, Angelo, and his Network. And John was a notch above all of them.

And yet, the Detective Inspector and the Doctor offered sympathy and compassion to _him_. When their own lives are considerably worse off and they're suffering from Sherlock's " _death_ ", or in Dr. Hooper's case, the stress of having to lie to her friends for the next several months or years, they still tried to give " _The Iceman_ " of all people comfort.

It caused him to slowly understand why Sherlock places so much value in them, besides how they contributed to his Work.

He muses on this and other things of a more peaceful sort.

After forty minutes of this, which in itself is remarkable as he is usually interrupted after twenty minutes for whatever crisis, he opens his eyes and feels more relaxed than he has in quite a while.

Anthea must be running interference for him. He makes a mental note to give her a small reward for this.

Getting up and walking to the windows, he looks out and observes the stars. The height and the weather allow him to see a grand amount of them.

And he remembers.

Mycroft Holmes remembers _everything_. From the first five seconds out of his mother to now. As much as he wishes otherwise, he will _always_ remember everything that has occurred in his life, barring Alzheimer's or any other debilitating condition that could arise.

Unlike Sherlock with his ability to " _delete_ " things from his mental hard drive or Mind Palace as he's been calling it lately, Mycroft instead compresses and compartmentalizes everything into the mental equivalent of four Pentagons stacked on top of each other. In another three years, one month, and eight days, he'll have to create a fifth Pentagon.

But for now, he goes back and remembers one of the most important events of his life.

His seventh birthday was two weeks away when his parents told him that they were going to have a baby and that he was going to be a brother.

They had a long talk with him to see if he was going to be okay with this significant change. And to reassure him that it won't reduce the amount of love they have for him.

He knew that. If anything, he was already thinking of the positive aspects of this development. He would have more moments of privacy to read at the library, to meet with his fellow members of their recently created Diogenes Club, it's still up in the air whether girls can join or not, and to spend in his room as he plans for his future.

In the meantime, after his birthday celebrations, he spent the rest of his free time during the pregnancy period carefully, painstakingly hand painting every constellation and asterism in the Great British night sky on the nursery ceiling in special glow in the dark paint. The amount of detail would have made Carl Sagan and Neil deGrasse-Tyson weep with awe.

He wanted to impress, " _show off_ " his father joked, the new arrival with his intelligence. Make it clear to the little urchin that he was the older brother, ergo he will be at the top of the " _food chain_ " so to speak.

Then the fateful day arrived.

Little Sherlock Holmes was pudgy, drippy at nearly every orifice, smelly, and noisy.

No matter what their parents said, Mycroft was certain _he_ was a superior infant in terms of hygiene at the very least.

The first night Sherlock saw the ceiling with the lights off, his eyes went as wide as possible for a baby. And to the tired parents' relief, he was quiet for a few hours.

Mycroft looked at his little brother who had a little baby smile as his hands reached up toward the lights, and he felt an overwhelming love and strong need to protect him.

That love and protectiveness never went away. It only increased as the years went by. Despite the bad times, he could never stop wanting to protect his brother. To love him.

Mycroft forcibly snaps himself out of his memories and with a sniff he goes back to work.

 **[][][][][]**

 **1:10 pm. Angelo**

The restaurant's closed for the day.

Ever since he got back from the solicitors, he's been straddling a chair and looking at the private window booth with the black ribbon draped across it.

That man was a saint.

And while Angelo isn't seeing thru rose colored glasses to think that Sherlock might be a literal saint now, he still prays for the man's soul every Sunday.

Because, dammit _yes_ Sherlock Holmes had a soul!

One only needs to hear him playing his violin to know that. But there were other signs. No matter how much Holmes tried to hide them.

"Boss?" Laurie, his right-hand woman lingers by. She was also someone who Sherlock helped when he didn't have to. Someone else who knows he's not a fraud.

"Yeah." He wipes his eyes. "Have you got that paper with the owner's latest offer?"

"You gonna expand?" She asks, a small smile tries to show itself. "I thought you wanted to wait till they lowered the offer some more?

"I'm tired of waiting for them to waffle on price for a cheap office area. Life's too short."

"Yes, boss." Now the smile refuses to hide. "Shall I get the paint samples too?"

He nods. "And can you get my laptop from the office? I want to look at flooring."

Who would have thought that online shopping for ceramic tiles would make a grown man want to giggle like a kid?

He forgot to turn on the ceiling lights when he arrived and despite the afternoon sun, the restaurant is still a bit on the dim side.

One of the things he plans to improve on for the lunch crowd.

But for now, he moves to one of the bigger tables and sits down to plan.

He notices the table has a small candle.

With a fond smile, he lights it.

"God bless you, Sherlock Holmes."

 **[][][][][]**

 **4:15 pm. Mike Stamford**

Though his boss said he can take the whole day off under the circumstances, Mike still called in after he left the solicitor's. Better to focus on the latest homework assignments than to dwell on sad things.

Though he can't stop himself from remembering the first couple of times Sherlock started appearing at St Barts, using the lab and the morgue for his work. And those weird experiments/hobbies of his.

Mike somehow ended being a mediator during one really nasty argument between the head pathologist and Sherlock and managed to get them to find a resolution.

From now on, Sherlock would _only_ communicate with Dr. Hooper when he was at the hospital and in return, he could have as much use of the morgue and the labs as the board of directors were comfortable giving him.

Mike still can't remember how _he_ got involved, things happened so fast, and he was supposed to be teaching a class in a half-hour.

And he never learned the story of how Sherlock got carte blanche from the board in the first place.

That was something Mike was always planning to ask him over a pint someday. But he put it off since the one time they did go out for drinks, Sherlock was clearly too uncomfortable in trying to be " _social_ ".

But that was also when he mentioned needing a flat-mate, so Mike was glad _some good_ came out of that awkward time.

Hard as it may be to believe now. But that sweet landlady of theirs was right in that he should not regret his actions that day.

He and John are, were, closer friends than when they were in school. And Sherlock…well, there _was_ an improvement _somewhere_ in that complex, rude yet amazing man.

He walks down the hall and notices the large whiteboard for the teachers in this office wing.

As per usual, the board is divided into two sections. The work schedule on one side, and little announcements and/or notes on the other for teachers to see first thing before getting to their offices.

This week, the notes side is largely blank. Just a few scribbles of the ongoing on-again, off-again drama between Evans and Zimmerman.

Mike stares for a moment before picking up the sharpie and writing in the largest block letters he can.

 **I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES**

With a smile, he goes back to his office and makes a mental reminder to get a pint later as a farewell salute.

And to tell his wife about the new plans he's got for their kids' academic futures.

 **[][][][][]**

 **11:10 am. Molly Hooper**

Everyone's going their separate ways.

Mike and Angelo have already left after talking to Mrs. Hudson and John who barely acknowledged the conversation. Lestrade is still upstairs talking to McFarlane.

And Mr. Holmes is around in that strange way he has of making himself almost invisible when he wants to. Or maybe he left ages ago and no one noticed. For a man with a " _ **Look**_ _upon me, ye_ _ **mere mortals**_ _, and_ _ **despair**_ " presence, he's surprisingly good at that.

Molly, John and Mrs. Hudson are lingering on the curb, waiting for the cab Molly called for them.

"I'll see you day after tomorrow then." She says to John.

"… Sorry, what? I'm sorry, Molly, I uh…" Poor John has been having trouble focusing on _anything_ since McFarlane gave him the pale cream envelope.

Molly gives one of her warm, but still nervous smiles. "It's okay, John. I'm going to see you and Mrs. Hudson for tea, day after tomorrow."

"Oh… Yeah. Okay. I'm sure she'll love your company. Mrs. Hudson lives for her teas."

"And I'll see you too."

He blinks a few times. "I don't…"

"Yes, you will. Mrs. Hudson and I already planned for it. I'm bringing some tiramisu from this bakery near where I live. Their goods are wonderful. You'll love them." She impulsively hugs him. "It's going to be okay, John. Maybe it won't be better, probably _never_ that, but it will be okay." She must sound so _stupid_ , like a badly written greeting card.

But then John gives a sort-of, barely there smile.

And that alone is enough to make her want to cry in vast relief.

"I don't think I've ever had tiramisu." John says after a moment.

Molly's smile grows. "It's wonderful stuff. The name actually translates to ' _cheer me up_ ' or ' _pick me up_ '. The bakery puts blueberries on theirs, you'll love it!"

John's sort-of, barely there smile changes to an almost half-smile.

Mrs. Hudson approaches. "Our cab's here, John." She hugs Molly goodbye. "See you soon, dear."

Molly hugs back. And she hugs John again because she belongs to the group of people that believe there's no such thing as too many hugs.

He doesn't return the hug of course, but he doesn't grimace either so that's a small win.

After the cab drives off, Molly waits a second before trying to flag down a cab for herself.

"Dr. Hooper."

Slightly startled, Molly turns to face, "Mr. Holmes."

"It would not be out of my way to take you home." He moves to indicate she can walk pass him and towards his car.

A second or two passes before she decides to accept. "Thank you."

Several minutes pass as the car drives thru mid-day traffic.

Molly tries not to stare at the man sitting next to her, but she has to ask now since she probably won't get another chance. "Mr. Holmes?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Is…is what John said true? About…you and Sherlock?"

It just shows how intelligent Mycroft is, in figuring out that vague question. "In part. For my brother's sake, it's best for John to keep thinking that I betrayed Sherlock's trust."

…

"I'm sorry." She says.

He turns his head to look at her better. "I beg your pardon?"

"I, I'm sorry that you have to…endure that. To have John and others hate you when it's not really your fault. I understand it's for good reasons, but I _am_ sorry you have to have that hanging over you all the time now."

He gave her the strangest, yet painfully familiar look.

~~ _Are you okay? Don't just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you._

 _But, you can see me._ ~~

But if he was going to respond, it was prevented by a text alert beep from her phone.

She has a full body jolt before scrambling for the seemingly loud device. "Sorry!"

"Dr. Hooper, you don't have to apologize. As you didn't inform him you went to a will reading, the man can hardly be blamed for knowing it's a bit too soon to ask you out for another date."

…

" _How!_?" Her voice is as loud as a kitten.

Mycroft sighs. "Sherlock asked me to make certain that any stranger that enters your life has no connection to Moriarty's organization. He was _concerned_ ," He grimaces. "that someone might learn of your role in his ' _death_ '. You can be assured that once security cleared him, we did not pry any further into his life. Nor are we prying into yours, despite my earlier comments. Whether you go out with this man again or not is none of my concern."

"…Thank you. I think." She has no idea if there was anything to say thank you for, but her parents raised her to remember her manners so she figured it couldn't hurt.

"Mm."

A few more minutes of quiet passes on.

Molly looks out the window to the blue sky. ' _I'll keep my promise, Sherlock. And I'll pray for your safety. I know you'd probably sneer at that, but it's one of the few ways I believe I can still help you, so…I will. Be safe, Sherlock._ '

 **[][][][][]**

 **5:50 pm. Greg Lestrade.**

He's been walking all this time. Adding to the amount he walked before he got to the solicitor's office, his feet are probably " _screaming_ " in agony.

He doesn't care.

One of the first things he learned as a cop was to disassociate his mind from pain. At least when it's pain he can afford to ignore.

And when he has something much better to focus on.

He's still in a mental daze from the will reading. Partly from how much money he got, but mostly Sherlock's words.

Why couldn't the git have said something like this _ages_ ago?!

Lestrade wasn't even sure they were friends, despite his and John's attempts to bring Sherlock out of his " _sociopathic_ " shell. And after what happened at Baskerville, he wasn't sure if Sherlock really thought of him as a person. Just a tool for his Work.

But _now_ , for the man to write such words…

He wipes his eyes from the cool wind blowing in his direction. Cause it is.

His pride is still stinging a bit after asking that solicitor if he could have an advance on his inheritance, but his common sense won by reminding his pride that even the " _small_ " advance he got is enough to let him stay in his home and have food for the next couple of months.

And to last even longer in the battle of divorcing Abigail.

McFarlane said something about documents to give to Lestrade's solicitor, but Lestrade was having trouble concentrating on anything other than the _amount_ of the advance. Good grief!

And from Sherlock's final words. Cause isn't it _just_ like him to only give a sincere compliment after he died?

Lestrade sighs. He's really gonna miss, _does_ miss, that brilliant, maddening, one of a kind man.

There's an empty bus bench close by, so Lestrade gives his feet a rest.

He'll probably walk a little more once the throbbing stops. He's in no hurry to get home. So much to think about first, and the fresh, for London, air always helps his brain run more efficiently.

" _Cripes,_ I'm starting to sound like him in my head." He half-groans, half-laughs as he rubs his face then stretches his neck around and back to relive the tension in the muscles. "It's gonna be all ' _Tell-Tale Heart_ ' but with Sherlock's voice instead, I _just know it._ " He just chuckles at how his mood's gone up and down so much in the past few hours.

He really needs a drink. And he knows, he _really_ shouldn't.

A flash of bright color flashes across his lower vision and he straightens his position to observe better.

Across the street, a music store with a sign on the biggest window in bright, potentially seizure-inducing, neon colors, " _ASK US ABOUT OUR GREAT, WEEKLY GUITAR LESSON PLAN!_ _ **30% OFF FOR THE FIRST MONTH!**_ _COME ON IN AND ASK US ALREADY!_ "

He grins.

 **[][][][][]**

 **3:20 pm. Mrs. Hudson**

John went back upstairs after lunch.

She glances toward the ceiling before loading her dishwasher.

John was able to finish two thirds of the meal. That's reassuring.

But she doesn't like how automatic his motions were. He wasn't even trying to taste the Lancashire hotpot, just put in enough bites to satisfy her.

Her hip twinges in protest after putting in the last glass. And it's too soon for the herbal soothers.

Well, her sister did mention a new type of washer that's supposed to be easier for senio…people in the wise, autumnal years of their lives, to operate. She should still have the ad cutting on her fridge. And it's not supposed to be outrageously expensive.

It was so kind of Sherlock to make certain she will be well provided for.

She sniffs as she grabs the nearest tissue box.

" _That dear boy…_ " She murmurs to herself.

For all his yelling and shooting at walls, he was such a sweet lad.

The yelling she never minded. It was just his way of needing attention.

She had known all sorts of men in her " _Primrose Days_ ". Most were deceptively lovely like her late-husband. Nearly all of them were coarse but ironically honest. And many were like Sherlock who acted cruel because they just didn't know how to gain more thru kindness.

Dear Sherlock…

She grabs a fresh Kleenex.

After a few minutes of cleaning her eyes, Mrs. Hudson vows not to be so weepy for here on in.

She's British.

The British don't weep. Stiff upper lip, Carry On, and so forth.

She's done her crying, at the funeral and the will reading, it's time to move on now.

The important thing is to look after John.

Sherlock is in a better place, but he's probably worried over his friends.

John, Molly, and that nice, handsome Detective Inspector.

Mrs. Hudson allows herself a giggle. She may be of a certain age, but there's no law that says she can't enjoy looking.

A knock on the back door.

" _Coeee?_ "

It's Mrs. Turner.

Mrs. Hudson smiles with relief.

It'll be good to have some tea with her best friend and having someone help her figure out what to do with her life now that it won't be as exciting as before.

PT. 2

 **8:49 pm. John**

Keep thinking of other things.

Molly's coming over tomorrow. That'll be nice.

Greg promised he'll see him for a beer later this week. That'll be nice too. Mike also said he'd come.

Think of something else. Something more time consuming.

And don't look at the empty chair across from you.

Bill Murray called yesterday. Said he'd come visit day after tomorrow. That's nice. It's been a while since they last got together.

John forces himself to get up and move to the kitchen.

A cup of tea and a few ham sandwiches.

It's not much of a dinner, but he feels like that's all he can stomach right now.

John makes his way to the desk table to eat. Sitting there will let him watch telly as he eats.

It doesn't matter what's playing. Even if it's reruns of " _The Sooty Show_ " or " _Hollyoaks_ ", it'll be good to have some background noise. Nice and distracting.

John moves aside a thick book left on the desk to make room for his tray.

After twenty minutes of silently chewing and sipping while " _Doctor Who: Robots of Death_ " is playing on the telly, John finally looks at the book cover.

" _Outlines of Vertebrate Evolution by Professor George Edward Challenger_ "

And he remembers…

 _~~Three weeks after the Pool~~_

 _John's been both dreading and looking forward to this day._

 _His sister is going to visit for the first time since he moved in with Sherlock._

 _And she's been sober for more than a month, so it looks like she's finally getting better._

 _And she's going to meet Sherlock._

…

 _Still, John's been needing this._

 _Moriarty's really did a number on his nerves. One of those intense drum numbers that seem to go hours longer than it should._

 _He's barely gotten any sleep and it's been hard to keep food down, though John's certain he had been drinking twice his bodyweight in tea at this point. He's even looked up mediation techniques on YouTube to help keep his PTSD at bay, which helped a pinch._

 _But poor Sherlock was even worse off._

" _ **Haggard**_ _" being too polite an adjective to describe how he'd been looking lately._

 _Immediately after Moriarty let them leave the Pool safely, Sherlock rushed back to Scotland Yard while talking to Mycroft on the phone._

 _For the rest of the night, Sherlock and John talked to Lestrade, Mycroft, and other people of authority._

 _Then John was allowed to go home with the assurance that Mycroft's people were going to increase security for the whole neighborhood._

 _More than a day later, Sherlock came home and just flopped onto his bed._

 _Ever since, people kept coming over to talk to Sherlock._

 _Mycroft, Lestrade once to say he's off the case as it's officially bigger than his department and to take John out for drinks anyway, and the directors for both Mi5 and Mi6._

 _Weeks later, John would chuckle to himself for actually seeing "_ _ **M**_ _", but at the time he was too distracted to really make the connection._

 _Being a civilian who already gave as complete a statement as he could give, and with his locum jobs, John was out of the loop as to the bulk of these discussions._

 _Which was fine with him. When all's said and done, John's just a foot soldier._

 _He doesn't need to be there for the intensely heavy discussions. As soon as Sherlock reveals he has a plan to deal with Moriarty, John will be there with guns a-blazing. Hopefully more metaphorically than literally. Touch wood._

 _But in the meantime, he's going to reconnect with his sister and things will be warm-fuzzy-happy, even if it kills him._

 _John and Mrs. Hudson cleaned up the flat and Sherlock cleaned himself till he looked his usual immaculately skinny self._

 _As long as one didn't look too closely._

 _However, Sherlock refused to_ _"_ _ **visit**_ _". He had a great deal of work to do and didn't want to waste time pretending to be nice to a guest he didn't want in the first place._

 _After an hour arguing, John and Sherlock compromised that Sherlock doesn't have to "_ _ **visit**_ _" the whole time but when he and Harry are in the same room, then be nice. Or be quiet._

 _Which now came to Zero Hour._

 _Wearing a clean, semi-formal, button-down blue shirt and black trousers, John double checked that everything is as tidy as an apartment shared by two bachelors can get and that Sherlock hadn't snuck in and hidden a body part somewhere._

 _Dressed in his usual tight white shirt and black pants, Sherlock just stayed in his chair and reading a rather thick book._

 _The doorbell rang._

 _John rushed down the stairs while Sherlock rolled his eyes._

" _I got it, Mrs. Hudson!" John shouted over his shoulder just before he opened the door._

 _A late 30s, light-brown haired women in a casual green shirt and blue jeans beamed at him. "Hey, Johnny!"_

 _He smiled back. "Hey!"_

 _They hug and make their way up to the flat._

" _So I wasn't sure what to get you as a housewarming gift, late as it is, so I used the most brilliant invention of the 21_ _st_ _century."_

" _Gift card?" He asked, remembering what she got him for the last couple of birthdays and Christmases._

 _She laughed as they entered the living room. "Of course!"_

" _Well, I guess iTunes, touchscreen technology, the Curiosity rover, and electric cars are all just narcissistic upstarts for daring to think they could supplant gift cards(!)" Sherlock snarked behind his book._

" _And you're the guy Johnny talks about in his blog." Harry said._

 _John sighed. "Harry, Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, my sister Harry."_

" _Gift cards came out in the 90s."_

 _Harry tilted her head to read the title of Sherlock's book. "_ ' _ **Outlines of Vertebrate Evolution**_ ' _? Wow. Sounds like one of those '_ _ **coffee table**_ _' books." She chortled. "Right next to the one about the Grand Canyon or the life of Monet."_

 _John chuckled, and things moved pleasantly from there._

 _Harry and John catching up on things, with John talking about the few cases that he can disclose in public, Harry talking about her job at this "posh hotel", and Sherlock mostly ignoring them but still giving a snarky reply here and there._

 _Then John went down to Speedy's to get sandwiches for everyone._

 _Luckily it wasn't one of their rush hours so in less than twenty minutes, John was entering the living room with takeout bags._

 _He looked around in concern. "Where's Harry?"_

" _Gone." Sherlock tersely replied, now standing by the desk table and holding his book up at his eye level._

 _John's shoulder's slump before he braced himself for the bad news. "What did you do?" He sighed._

 _Sherlock quickly glanced to him, his eyes having a flash of irritation, and then looked back at his book. "I told her that since she_ _**had**_ _to have known how important tonight was for you, she shouldn't have drunk so much before coming. And that it'd be best if she left now than have you come home to seeing her fail again."_

" _What?!" Starting to feel that familiar sense of frustration, John just placed the bags on his chair. "_ _ **She wasn't drunk!**_ _"_

" _Was."_

" _Sherlock, I know my own sister and sadly, I know the signs. She_ _**wasn't**_ _drunk!"_

" _ **Technically**_ _she wasn't when you last saw her. The alcohol was just starting to affect her. She must have had quite a few about twenty to thirty minutes before coming here."_

" _Stop it! I didn't smell it on her, I didn't see it in her movements, I_ _**know**_ _when she's been drinking even before it starts to take!"_

 _Sherlock finally looked up from his book. "Guess she's gotten better at hiding the symptoms. Didn't want to deal with your dispr-"_

" _It was you. wasn't it?" John ran his hand thru his hair. "You said something that pissed her off because you_ _**always**_ _do. You deduced something and just couldn't keep your mouth shut! Not this one time!"_

 _Sherlock slammed his book down on the desk with a loud WHAM! "It's_ _**always**_ **my** _fault, isn't it? I'm always ruining everyone's lives!_ ' _Stop that, Sherlock._ ', ' _Why are you lying, Sherlock?_ ', ' _You're too young to know such things, Sherlock._ ', ' _No one wants to hear you talk, Freak!_ ', ' _Do you_ **want** _to make your mother cry, Sherlock?_ ', " **Why can't you be normal, Freak?!** ' " _He all but stomped to his room. "_ _ **AND YOU WONDER WHY I DON'T CARE ABOUT PEOPLE!**_ " _He yelled over his shoulder just before he slammed the door as hard as he could._

 _Grabbing his keys, John left the flat. Not wanting to go to Sarah's, he just walked from one end of the block to the other to cool off._

 ***** _ **ringring**_ *****

 _John looked at the caller ID and answered the call. "Harry? Look I'm sorry about Sherlock. He's a berk. He ca-"_

" _I don't think mush of him._ "

 _He stopped walking. "What?"_

" _That skinny posh with the voice had the nerve to say I'm was drink._ _ **HA!**_ _I HAVEN'T HAD A DRUNK IN WEEKS NOW!_ "

 _John winced from the volume and from what she's saying._

" _You need nicer friends, Johnnyyy. Not so judgg…judgemenn…snobsy. Y'Know?_ "

"… _I know. Call you tomorrow."_

" _OK! I'll hav-_ "

 _John hanged up before she could finish._

 _Sherlock was trying to protect John's feelings. In his own high-functioning sociopathic, but he's not really, way._

 _John walked back to 221B, mentally going over how he'll apologize._

~~ _Back to now_ ~~

Having sat at the desk table, staring at the book for who knows how long, John finally moves.

Ignoring his dishes for now and the telly still playing, John heads upstairs to his bedroom where he left his nice clothes from the will reading on the bed and floor.

Luckily, his coat was one of those on the bed so the pale cream envelope inside the inner pocket is still intact.

His hand trembling to the point where he's convinced it hurts, John takes the pale cream envelope out.

He goes back downstairs, turns off the telly, gets as comfortable in his chair as he can…and after staring at the pale cream envelope for a while, finally opens it.

" ' _John._

' _I told you once that heroes don't exist. I was wrong._ _ **One**_ _does and I find my life rich beyond measure that he chose to be my friend when I have done nothing in my life to deserve such a blessing._

' _Like all the others, you saw from the first what kind of person I am. Git, jerk, freak, high-functioning sociopath, asshole, etc, ad infinitum. Yet you_ _ **accepted**_ _me._

' _You can tolerate me when I'm going insane from boredom and you try to think of ways to distract me. You are more than helpful to me in my investigations by keeping me grounded when I'm in danger of overthinking the case and need to be reminded that the answer will usually be a simple one. I have a living, tea drinking, shooting, sweater-wearing, Occam's razor for a flatmate. You make me laugh and I can't remember the last time I laughed_ _ **with**_ _someone. You stand by me when I'm at my worst, and when I inevitably take it out at you, you don't truly leave me alone even if you're not physically in the room._

' _I am sorry, John. Sorry for all the times I hurt you. For the longest time before we met, it seemed that I hurt people no matter_ _ **what**_ _I said or did. After a point, it just got' "_

There is a small inkblot in-between the words. As if the writer hesitated for a moment before steeling himself to continue.

" ' _easier to stop trying to care. You helped me care again and I got better at it thanks to you. I still don't understand it as much as you said I would someday, but I think I've grown to accept it more. Or at least sentiment's not as repugnant to me as it once was. Just mildly annoying._

' _At the risk of being grossly misinterpreted because you know how people talk…_

' _I love you, John._

' _I love you as my best friend and more than a brother. Granted being compared to Mycroft is not necessarily a compliment, but you're intelligent enough to understand what I mea-' "_

The letter falls to the floor as his hands move to cover his face. His whole body shakes as he sobs his heart out.


	7. Chapter 3 Author's Notes

According to Wikipedia and that London map website I love using, Richmond Terrace is directly across from Downing Street.

I like the idea that Mycroft's main headquarters is technically _not_ in Whitehall like the majority of England's government branches' offices are based, but close enough. I'm easily amused.

Also, was I the only one who thought the office in the series 1 finale was just not Mycroft's? There were three windows and that transom opening over the door that would be child's play for an assassin to use. Several assassins at the same time! And the décor was like it was right out of some furniture magazine or a Sears display and nothing to show it was inhabited at any time. It was a showpiece, not a workable office.

Granted, I doubt Mycroft is the type to put little touches in his office like family pictures or a plant, but that office was _too_ impersonal.

* * *

That lovely looking skyscraper, The Shard, wasn't officially opened to the public until February 2013.

But it makes sense to me that Mycroft would get early dibs.

* * *

The guy that Molly's dating won't show up for a couple more stories. I hope you'll like him.

* * *

I've noticed that certain fanart and fanfics declare that Lestrade is into heavy metal/punk rock music. Sex Pistols, the Clash, and what have you.

Me, I see him more as someone who'd enjoy Queen, The Who, David Bowie, Genesis, and other 70s/80 pop rock-y music of that ilk.

What do you think?

* * *

I picked Lancashire hotpot just to have a " _Wallace & Gromitt_" shoutout. It's one of those lines I find hilarious for no discernable reason.

* * *

The term " _Primrose Days_ " I got from a Laurel & Hardy short. It was Hardy's way of describing his " _wild_ " lifestyle before he got married and settled into business. A woman he used to date tries to blackmail him with a picture of those " _wild_ " times since Hardy is running for mayor. By late 20th century/early 21st century standards, his " _Primrose Days_ " are _very_ mild and " _G_ " rated compared to crud you'd see on YouTube/Facebook/etc. And since it happened _before_ he was married, it's _really_ not blackmail-able.

I just find it appropriate that Mrs. Hudson would use that term.

* * *

And that's Mrs. Turner's only appearance folks. Enjoy. X^D

* * *

For those readers who's never gone to the " _John Watson_ " blog, cause yes there _is_ a real one, Google it, or look him up in the Sherlock wiki, Bill Murray is the name of John's army nurse buddy who keeps in touch with him, usually with comments on John's blog. He's the one who saved John's life when John got shot. He also knew John before Afghanistan.

Murray is the name of the person who saves Watson's life in " _A Study in Scarlet_ " so I don't know if Moffat or Gatiss gave him the name Bill to be funny or if it's a coincidence. I'm betting it's to be funny.

* * *

Professor Challenger is from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's other Strand magazine series. Basil Rathbone played the character for a radio adaption. Neat!

* * *

Touch wood is the British version of Knock on wood. It means the same thing either way.

* * *

So yeah. Harry Watson makes an appearance, albeit in flashback and in minute quantities. I'm not going to have her be a regular guest. Very sporadic depending on the stories. I hope Samantha Bond is believable as a sister to Martin Freeman. But I'm sure I'll find out in comments whether it works or not. X^D

* * *

Writing drunk talk is harder than you think. It is _really_ easy to let it get away from you till it's more absurd than a Red Skelton routine. (No offense meant, Mr. Skelton) Especially as you have no visual way to balance things out. It _all_ has to be conveyed by dialogue.


	8. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

 _But today there is no day or night_

 _Today there is no dark or light_

 _Today there is no black or white_

 _Only shades of gray_

 _Only shades of gray_

 **Mid-September 2012**

 **The Matenadaran, Yerevan, Armenia**

A light brown-haired man with thick " _professor_ " style glasses and overall " _university professor with a cheap clothing budget_ " apparel enjoys studying a Grigor Narekatsi manuscript on display when his cheap cell phone vibrates in his jacket. He quickly moves out of the way of other visitors and answers it. "Barev Dzez?" (Hello?)

" _Am I speaking to Mr. Sigerson?_ "

He checks around. He's in a little nook and his voice won't echo the way museums do if he keeps his voice soft. So he answers back. "Is this Mr. Gray? Your voice sounds different over the phone."

" _Yes, it's Charles. Your voice sounds strange as well. Must be the distance or some such technothingy._ "

"This is Sigerson."

Having said all the passcodes, they now talk plainly.

" _I thought you should know. Sherlock Holmes' will was read two weeks ago._ "

Sigerson heads toward the exit, forcing himself to keep his pace leisurely. "Any problems?"

" _Dr. Hooper handled herself well all things considered. She's not happy with continuing to lie to John and the others, but she did a better job than I expected._ "

"Too many people underestimate her."

" _Very true. I won't make that mistake in the future, rest assured._

" _Mr. McFarlane questioned why Holmes' parents weren't invited, but was deflected from asking too many questions which could have aroused suspicion if John and Lestrade weren't too busy mourning. It might have been more prudent if they_ _ **were**_ _invited like it was sugge-_ "

"I will _not_ go over this again with you." Sigerson quickly moves out of the museum and all but runs towards the parking lot where his rental car is. "It's bad enough they had to be told, wait…" He gets into his car. "I'm alone now."

" _As am I._ "

"They were told I committed suicide after confessing to be a fraud. That and the tabloids destroying my reputation, and the accusations of my being a kidnapper on top of it, it just… Having them go to the will reading just felt wrong."

" _ **Felt?**_ "

"I know you believe I'm making too many mistakes as it is, with my _caring,_ " He practically snarls the last word. "but I can't do that to them. Bad enough I had to hurt John and the others, but I _can't_ do that to Mum and Dad again. I'v-I've hurt them enough as it is growing up, I didn't want them at that farce."

"… _I understand, little brother. More than you think I do._ "

He sighs in relief, feeling the tension leave his body. "Tell me the rest."

" _Holmes' legacies were extremely generous to everyone who was invited._

" _John will be able to stay in 221B for several years, even if Mrs. Hudson hadn't already decided to reduce the rent the week before the will reading. She will be able to afford keeping the rent as low as she wants and can get 221C fixed up properly if she wishes._

" _Aside from taking_ _ **guitar lessons**_ _of all things,_ " Mycroft scoffs, but Sherlock still grins a little at the thought.

" _Lestrade is making progress in his divorce proceedings against his wife. The legacy you gave him will allow him the breathing space he very badly needed from her. That and the information you left with me will ensure that she and her solicitor will yield to the more than generous offer his solicitor will give her._ "

"She was too stupid for a good man like him anyway."

" _I agree with you on that point. Far too materialistic and self-centered to be a good wife for_ _ **anyone**_ _. Not that_ _ **I'm**_ _an expert in what makes a happy marriage. I only know of one successful matrimony and Mummy and Father are too extraordinarily unique a couple to be used as an accurate reference point_."

Now Sherlock's sorta-grin turns into a real smile. "True. What about Lestrade's position? He won't be happy in any other job."

" _I wasn't able to tell him at the time, but it will be a matter of months before he is reinstated as Detective Inspector complete with a proper apology. And the Chief Superintendent will take an early retirement. Scotland Yard_ _ **really**_ _can't afford to lose Lestrade. He_ _ **is**_ _one of the few they have with a working mind. One or two other members of the force had supported him, but Lestrade tried to make them not testify on his behalf at the inquiry. It's so noble it's almost disgusting._ "

He ignores the weak flippancy. "How is…how is John?"

"… _He's using his cane again._ "

He leans his head back against the headrest and takes a few deep breaths before bringing the phone back to his ear. "Will he be alright?"

" _Mrs. Hudson and Dr. Hooper are keeping an eye on him. His sister is also trying to be supportive, which is rather flimsy considering. But apparently it makes him feel better to see her sober for more than one week, so I suppose every little atom helps. The Detective Inspector is also trying despite how busy he is with his own problems._ "

Sherlock takes this in and loses his focus as he thinks about his friends.

" _Sigerson? Talk to me._ "

Hearing Mycroft's voice grow tense with worry, Sherlock snaps out of it. "I'm here."

" _Don't_ _ **ever**_ _do that again._ " Mycroft exhales over the phone in both relief and frustration.

"I won't."

" _Now, what is the latest development?_ "

"I'm going to the Charles Aznavour museum in twenty minutes. Once I find verification there, I'll be able to provide proof that would-be ' _Baron_ ' Maupertuis is a most accomplished swindler and is in fact the head of the European branch of Moriarty's loan shark and extortion operations."

" _I'll make sure INTERPOL will be available to make the arrests once you contact Lee._ "

"I can't use Lee. Maupertuis' men are suspicious of him. He stupidly went to the library too soon and frightened their operative. And he's an idiot. I'll have to use Cummings to contact you and INTERPOL."

" _Very well. I'll have Lee transferred._ "

"Then I'll making my way to Shanghai."

" _And as I have warned you before, taking down the Black Lotus will be needlessly_ _ **dangerous**_ _as well as time-consuming. Time which you can't afford to waste for anything that doesn't involve Moriarty's organization. They were only associated with Black Lotus for that one occasion._ "

"And John still blames himself for Soo Lin's death."

"… _Well, I won't deny that one less tong in the world_ _ **would**_ _be one less headache for me._ "

"I'm so thrilled to hear that." Sherlock says as deadpan, yet also as sarcastic as possible at the same time.

" _I know it makes your day to know how happy you're made me._ " Mycroft replies as smug as possible.

"Hanging up now! Contact you in four days."

And with that, Sherlock turns off his phone, starts up his rental, and drives off.

His mind still thinking about the people he left in London and wondering how they reacted when McFarlane read his will.

Were they happy with the money? Are they mad at him for being a " _fraud_ "? Do they still miss him? Did they miss him at all?

Sherlock Holmes forces himself to " _barricade_ " that wing of his Mind Palace regarding his past and focuses on his long-term goal.

Demolish every trace of Moriarty in the world.

Then he can go home.

* * *

 **FINAL AUTHOR'S NOTES**

 _ **PLEASE** _don't ask when I'll post my next Sherlock story. The " _2nd episode_ " is only a few pages worth right now. I write when I feel like it and it could take me to any one of my stories. My next posted story could be MLP or Greek Myths or something else.

* * *

The beautiful song, " _Shades of Grey_ " (1967) was performed by The Monkees and is the property of Rhino Entertainment. Also the _only_ Shades of Grey that I consider worth my time.

* * *

The Matenadaran is a real museum that holds one of the world's largest collections of medieval manuscripts and books.

* * *

Grigor Narekatsi AKA Saint Gregory of Narek was a monk and is considered Armenia's first great poet. He was declared a Doctor of the Church by Pope Francis in 2015.

* * *

"Sigerson" is the alias Sherlock Holmes uses during his three years while pretending to be dead. Lots of Sherlock Holmes fans believe this means Sherlock and Mycroft's father is named Siger. I use a different name in my fanfics.

* * *

Charles Gray played Mycroft Holmes to Jeremy Brett's Sherlock in the Granada Sherlock Holmes series. And did an _amazing_ job of it. He and Jeremy clicked so well together. Besides " _Greek Interpreter_ " and " _The Bruce-Partington Plans_ ", Charles also appeared in episodes that were adapted from stories Mycroft's not in. The reasons why are various but primarily because of Jeremy's failing health at the time.

* * *

Yes, I know that in the show, Sherlock's parents knew he faked his death. Mycroft will tell them sometimes between this story and the " 3rd season finale". Sherlock and Mycroft were concerned the Moriarty had spies watching the parents, hence why they weren't told right away.

* * *

It may seem foolish for Lestrade to start guitar lessons when his budget is tight from the divorce. But remember, Sherlock wanted everyone to use the money on fun things that they always wanted to do. And Lestrade has too much free time so he needs to occupy it with something productive.

* * *

Charles Aznavour is Armenia's biggest celebrity as well as one of France's most popular singers. Has been recognized by CNN and other organizations as Entertainer and outstanding performer of the 20th century, beating Elvis and Bob Dylan. I don't have the room so go look him up on Wikipedia for all his exploits. He's a pretty awesome guy! Over 90 and _still_ performing! Yes, there _is_ a museum dedicated to him in Armenia. I first became aware of him in " _The Muppet Show_ " and one adaption of " _And Then There Were None_ ". Both times, he sings " _The Old Fashioned Way_ " which is a pretty good song.

* * *

Baron Maupertuis is mentioned in the beginning of " _The Reigate Puzzle_ " story and is mentioned in the " _Sherlock_ " episode " _The Empty Hearse_ ". What a cool name for a villain. All unproduceable and yet sounding most sinister.

* * *

I love John, I really do. Martin Freeman is one of the best Watsons we've had in decades. But he messed up _so bad_ when it came to protecting Soo Lin. I refuse to let him off the hook for that. Granted, that episode has _a lot_ of flaws, but John's screw up was the biggest one.

* * *

 **SHERLOCK FANFICS I RECOMMEND:**

" _The Long Week_ " and " _Two Words_ " by: Kali47 at this website. I really don't have the words to describe how wonderful this writer is! She writes Sherlock and Mycroft's relationship the way I can only _dream_ of describing in my works! She wrote three other good Sherlock works, but these two are the ones to start with!


End file.
